


Splintered Darkness

by thekeyholder



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Broken Jim, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Redemption, Season/Series 03, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-10-02 16:38:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10222637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder/pseuds/thekeyholder
Summary: When Jim returns to Gotham, he’s a mess. No job, no family or will to live, just crippling depression and a growing alcohol problem. He becomes a bounty hunter in order to survive. Jim thinks he’s alone, falling deeper into darkness, until he realises that Oswald has been trying to save him by any means necessary.An alternative take on S3 where Oswald is still running for mayor, but Jim works for him as his personal bounty hunter/bodyguard.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skeleton_twins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeleton_twins/gifts).



> This is dedicated to E, who celebrates her birthday today. Happy birthday, dear friend! I hope you have an amazing one. :) Sorry about this meagre gift - you deserve the best this world has to offer.
> 
> The basic idea of the story crossed my mind last summer when we got those first glimpses of S3. However, the fic's plot has developed, became more complex. I'm sorry about the angst, but I promise it will have a happy ending (and it will become explicit oops). Please enjoy.
> 
> Thank you Nekomata58919 for the beta and Rose for helping me out with ideas.

Jim had been nursing a glass of whiskey for the past half an hour, though it wasn’t his first ‒ far from it. His head was heavy, and he had to support it with his hand if he didn’t want to slam his face directly into the counter. He’d returned to Gotham two days ago, but no one knew ‒ he’d spent most of his time in similar establishments anyway. He didn’t feel like he could face reality, not yet.

 

The place was rather dark and smoky, loud with the crackly music coming from a jukebox, the bumping of the billiard balls against each other and the rowdy clientele. If he still had his badge, Jim could probably arrest most of them for some reason or other. But now he was just a drunk with no plans for the future whatsoever.

 

It was then that he noticed a door open not that far from him. A big guy exited, followed by someone with a cane and distinct laugh. Something in Jim’s brain seemed to have come alive, as if the sight of the man had sparked a memory. The stylish black hair and expensive suit seemed so familiar, but Jim was in a torpor which only dispersed when the man’s eyes met his. _Oswald_ , something inside him whispered. Of course. How could he forget?

 

The man was observing him with unabashed curiosity, inspecting him from head to toe. Jim knew he looked like a shadow of his former self: greasy hair, unshaven, bags under his eyes. Also very, very drunk. At least he didn’t care. He didn’t know why, but he nodded, as some kind of greeting or acknowledgment. After a moment, Oswald nodded as well, disappearing in the blink of an eye. Jim drank the rest of his beverage, then fished out his wallet for some money, and stumbled back to the motel where he’d rented a room.

 

Jim continued his self-destructive lifestyle for about a week; drinking until he could forget, but then ending up in tears at dawn in his room and nightmares haunting his mind during sleep. Somehow, Harvey had found him, and when Jim ‒ still hungover ‒ asked him how, he mumbled something about an anonymous note someone left in his office. Jim was back to sleep by the time Harvey finished the sentence.

 

When he woke up again, Harvey dragged him to have a greasy breakfast and strong coffee. A bit of life had returned to Jim, and his former partner pestered him until Jim told him that he’d found Lee, but she was happy with someone else. There was no more place for Jim in her new, peaceful life ‒ he’d ruin it anyway.

 

Harvey looked down, sharing Jim’s pain in silence. “Tell you what. Take a month to recover and get back to your old form as much as possible, then you could return to the GCPD. We really need all the help, the Arkham escapees are wreaking havoc on the city.”

 

Jim said he’d think about it, because he felt he owed that to Harvey after everything, but he knew that he wouldn’t return. The meeting had at least the effect of embarrassing Jim enough to gather his stuff and look for a place he could call his own. He found one easily enough: it was dark, but rather spacious, and the neighbourhood wasn’t too terrible either. He moved the few boxes he had, and left them in the corner of the living room, not bothering to unpack.

 

He was scratching the previous tenant's name off from the mailbox, when an old lady ‒ presumably one of his neighbours ‒ entered the building, the gust of wind making one of the papers from the notice board flutter away.

 

“It’s okay, I’ll get it,” Jim said when he saw the woman start chasing after it.

 

Jim looked at the paper; it was an announcement from the GCPD. Apparently they were paying two thousand bucks for every escapee brought in. Harvey was right; they really were swamped if they appealed to the citizens. He suddenly had an idea.

 

 

“So it’s true then? You caught that weirdo Dragon Man?” Harvey asked Jim, taking off his hat as he sat down.

 

Jim leaned against the desk like in the good old days. Those days were over, though, and he didn’t want to come back.

 

“I did,” he replied, fluttering the check proudly. “I know this is not how you imagined me catching these people.”

 

“You’re right about that, Jimbo. I thought it’d be like in the old days, you and me against the bad guys,” Harvey leaned against his seat. “Though I bet the ladies love this new rugged look, with the leather jacket and stubble.”

 

Jim inclined his head slightly, smiling. “Can’t complain.”

 

Of course, there wasn’t anyone; his evenings usually consisted of just himself and some cheap knock-off of Jack Daniels. He didn’t want to worry Harvey, though. He managed to shake his life into some form or other, but he could only face it with some alcohol in his system.

 

“Good. You’re looking better than the last time. But I guess that’s not a big feat, you looked like that crazy hobo guy who’s chasing the pigeons in the park.”

 

Jim punched Harvey’s shoulder while shaking his head, but as soon as he left the GCPD the smile melted off from his face. All the lies about getting his life back on track were hurting him even more, cracking further his battered soul. Thank fuck he now had money to buy more whiskey for that evening.

 

“They are monsters, and need to be locked away,” Oswald said with conviction from his TV. “Gotham will only be safe once its streets are free of them.”

 

Jim fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

It was true that Jim needed alcohol to erase the scraps of feelings that he felt even with his broken heart, like desaturating pictures of colours, but he tried to stay somewhat sober for his hunts. He’d learned the hard way when a big guy punched him, Jim’s reflexes slowed down. He always ended up accumulating more and more bruises, but they reminded him that he was still alive and needed to push on.

 

It was a particularly difficult day, and he had given in to the temptation of bourbon. He’d seen a father holding the small hands of his little girl who was obviously taking her first steps. He could barely hold the tears back, and rushed home. That man could have been him. He could have had a family, be a father, and live happily. He would come home from work to a nice house, his children greeting him with cheeky smiles, and his wife pressing a loving kiss on his cheek, asking him how his day was.

 

The punches he received from the twin punks made Jim reconsider. No. He could never have that life. He was spoiled goods; he’d never be a good man again. In fact, he’d never been as immaculate as he’d fancied himself. He had danger in his blood, and he didn’t deserve the idealism of regular people. Deep down he knew that not only he didn’t deserve this kind of life, he didn’t _want_ it either.

 

The anger that seized Jim helped him catch one of the women ‒ she thrashed around with all her might, but he wouldn’t let two thousand dollars get away that easily again. He handcuffed her to a steady banister, then looked around for her twin. The silence was eerie and suspicious; Jim was just about to wonder why his captive hadn’t been shouting for help when he noticed her eyes looking strange, as if out of focus. Just then he was tackled from behind.

 

Jim turned around, trying to get the Arkham escapee off his back, but she was stubborn and stronger than he expected. Jim’s head was heavy, and he found that kicking his feet didn’t help as the woman straddled his torso, her weight pushing down on his lungs. Jim couldn’t breathe well, couldn’t think straight, despite adrenaline cutting through the fogs of alcohol in his mind. Panic overtook him completely when the woman produced a piece of broken glass, and brought it to his neck with a snarl.

 

“Adios,” she whispered menacingly, and the sharp edge of the glass had just touched Jim’s neck when something hit the escapee’s right shoulder, the impact making her fly backwards.

 

Quickly, Jim threw her off of his body, breathing erratically.

 

“You should be more careful, James.”

 

Oswald, carrying a shotgun, and Gabe came into the bounty hunter’s line of vision. Cobblepot’s man made sure that the woman would stay on the ground while Oswald extended his hand to Jim who promptly refused it, and got up then staggered, but managed to remain on his feet.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“You’re bleeding,” was all that Cobblepot said, and Jim couldn’t decide if the gangster was worried or not.

 

He touched his neck, even though he could feel the hot blood running down his skin.

 

“It’s fine,” he breathed, then wobbled to the nearest building to have something to lean against.

 

Jim thought he might throw up, but the sensation passed, unlike the migraine that made his eyes burn.

 

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

 

“No, but I will be. I need to get these two to the GCPD,” Jim squared his shoulders, and wiped his sweaty forehead.

 

He produced another pair of handcuffs as he approached Cobblepot’s guy and the escapee.

 

“I see you got a big prize today,” Oswald commented, examining his shotgun with great interest.

 

Jim grunted, then tried to pick up the unconscious escapee, until a big hand shooed him away as Cobblepot’s man easily put the woman over his shoulder.

 

“Gabe will help and take you to the precinct.”

 

“So I guess now I have to halve the bounty with you?” Jim asked as he went to the other woman.

 

“Please, don’t try to insult me, you know very well that I don’t need the money.”

 

He knew he should have asked what Cobblepot wanted, because all this wasn’t for free, of that he was certain. But Jim tried to keep it together as he followed Gabe to a car and threw the other escapee in the backseat.

 

“See you around, Jim,” Oswald said with a smile before he got into a cab, and Jim got into Cobblepot’s car, next to Gabe.

 

He had no doubts about the gangster’s words. It was a promise.

 

Three days after the incident, there was a knock on Jim’s door. He was only slightly surprised when the visitor turned out to be Cobblepot, carrying two cups of coffee from an overpriced café most probably.

 

“Morning, Jim. May I?”

 

Jim wasn’t ready to have Oswald judge his new way of life, but there was nothing preventing the mobster. He opened the door wider, pointing at the sofa.

 

“Are you feeling better?”

 

He wasn’t happy about the reference to that botched-up night, but Jim couldn’t be rude to the man who saved his life. Yet again.

 

“Much better, thank you,” Jim reached for the cup he was offered, and took it to the kitchen counter where he spiked it. Knowing his visitor, he’d probably need it, but he couldn’t throw out Cobblepot, could he? There had been so many things between them ‒ their whole relationship felt like an unfinished business.

 

“So… why are you here?”

 

Oswald looked down, smiling. “Jim, always so blunt. I came with a proposal, or well, job offer.”

 

Jim huffed.

 

Oswald held up his hand. “I know, I know, I’m the last person you’d expect this from, but please, hear me out. I have some plans, and I hoped you’d help me in realising them.”

 

“What plans?” Jim had a bad feeling.

 

“I, well, I plan to run as mayor,” Oswald said, not quite looking at the former detective. “I haven’t made the official announcement yet, but soon.”

 

Jim couldn’t help the frown. “But… why?”

 

“Someone needs to make order in this city.”

 

“I agree, but _you_?”

 

Jim noticed that Oswald’s hand tightened around his cane. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so candid. After all, Oswald was so easily offended, and Jim really didn’t need another enemy.

 

“I should have known you wouldn’t be too happy about it.”

 

“I’m just shocked,” Jim grunted. “But anyway, why do you need my help? I have no clue about campaigns.”

 

“I suspected as much,” Oswald smiled as he brought the paper cup to his lips. “However, you’ve been working tirelessly on hunting down Arkham escapees. I was advised to concentrate my campaign on cleaning the city. The citizens are afraid, and they need to feel safe in order to-”

 

“Okay, okay, I don’t need one of your discourses,” Jim protested. “I’ll ask again: what do you want from me?”

 

“You’re quite the bounty hunter, James, and I’d like to employ your skills. If the citizens know that the man who’s caught most of those freaks is working for me, they will be certain that I mean it when I promise to make the city safe. Actions, not just words.”

 

Noticing that Jim was still looking at him suspiciously, Oswald sighed and went on: “Things won’t really change from your current situation. You’ll continue hunting and cashing in those checks, while also receiving a salary from me for being part of my team. I’d mostly just need your name. Oh, and my campaign manager thinks it would increase my numbers if once I went on a hunt with you.”

 

Jim closed his eyes and breathed in. This was too much at once. “I see you have planned everything. Have you considered that I might say no?”

 

“Of course. But I really hope you won’t,” Oswald was already getting up, limping to Jim’s door. He was awfully polite and lenient, and Jim was aware that the gangster was trying to hold out a carrot to him. “I’ll let you think it through. Good day, James.”

 

Jim closed the door, then returned to his armchair. He had some thinking to do.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Here's a new chapter, I hope I can update this weekly. 
> 
> Warning for suicidal thoughts and angst in the second half. Hope you'll still like it. As always, your comments are very much welcome!

Whenever he thought about Oswald’s visit, Jim had a funny feeling in his stomach. Even though he wasn’t a cop anymore, his first instinct was to refuse, but then he thought he should consider it more seriously. The extra money was, of course, the only pro if he accepted the offer. Maybe also getting into Oswald’s good books again. Even though Oswald seemed civil enough, Jim knew that their relationship was severed after he’d left the mobster in Arkham. That still made Jim’s chest ache with such intensity that it was often the thought that pushed him to drink.

 

If before Oswald was all adoring smiles and eyes sparkling with admiration and love, now he was much more reserved. He still smiled and there was still an intensity in each gaze directed at the bounty hunter, but Jim could feel a certain coldness between them, like a glass barrier preventing them getting closer. A smoked glass which absorbed most of the light and warmth, so that Jim couldn’t see the gangster clearly.

 

Oswald had been cautious in his interactions with him, and Jim didn’t blame him, he had every right to do so, yet Jim still found himself staring at the ceiling on sleepless nights, missing their curious bond. It was like someone had torn out a piece from the centre of his chest, and the wound had never healed. There was no cure. Before, when Jim thought he was an honest and good man, he didn’t dare to admit to himself that there was anything between them, but Jim could feel darkness uncoil within himself, like a beast that was finally waking up.

 

One evening, as Jim was channel surfing on his TV, he caught a live transmission of Oswald announcing his candidacy. For some reason, the surprised gasps of the news anchors and reporter provoked a small, content smile to form on Jim’s lips. He’d known about this before most people. Oswald still trusted him enough to involve him in his secret plans, and that proved to be a very heady realisation.

 

So after three days of deliberations and going over advantages and disadvantages a hundred times, Jim decided to pay Oswald a visit. He’d heard rumours here and there about the wealth the mobster had inherited, and as soon as he parked the car outside the manor, Jim knew all of them had to be true. It was quite a dark, oppressing building, something from a Gothic novel, but Jim suspected it suited Oswald’s style.

 

He was shown in almost instantly, though Jim wouldn’t have minded to wait a bit, to have a proper look around the hallway and its ‒ no doubt ‒ expensive paintings. He wasn’t sure why exactly he cared ‒ was it genuine curiosity or was he just trying to assess this new side of Oswald? He had to set aside his thoughts as he stepped into the living room, which was equally pompous and richly decorated.

 

Oswald looked like he belonged in the opulent, albeit slightly old-fashioned environment with his expensive clothes and fancy walking stick. He smiled and came to greet Jim, but there was something about him, as if he was holding himself back, his smile not quite reaching his eyes and the joy in his voice ringing a bit empty.

 

They sat down at the table, and Oswald leaned back against his seat expectantly, waiting for Jim to state the reason of his visit.

 

“It’s about the job offer,” Jim started, but then the words got stuck in his throat.

 

Oswald studied his face, his body clearly tense, then finally a sad flame dimmed in his gaze, and he looked down. “I see. You came to tell me that you have to refuse.”

 

The mobster nodded, a small smile on his lips, not unlike the one he’d sent Jim’s way from behind bars after he was arrested for the murder of Galavan. “I understand, of course, I really do.”

 

Oswald’s voice was quiet, and that was when Jim felt the cold glass between them crack for the first time in years. It was the first time the gangster had let his feelings clearly show on his face instead of the fake smile and mask of politeness that he’d used to put on. Jim could read the dejection and pain in the lines of his face, and wished his chest wouldn’t feel so hollow.

 

“It was a mistake asking in the first place. I’m sorry if I offended you, I didn’t-”

 

“I’ll do it.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m taking the job,” Jim said with a slightly incredulous tone even to his ears.

 

He came to the manor undecided, but still leaning more towards no. Yet the moment Oswald’s face crumpled when he thought the bounty hunter was going to refuse his offer, Jim knew he was going to accept. He couldn’t say that to Oswald, though.

 

“You saved me that night. I wouldn’t be sitting here if it weren’t for you,” Jim reasoned, even though he knew it was a weak answer ‒ Oswald had saved his life multiple times. “You said everything remains the same if I start working for you, right?”

 

Oswald blinked a few times before he recollected himself. “Yes, absolutely.”

 

“Then I have nothing to lose.”

 

Jim nodded once and was ready to leave; Oswald gripped the edge of the table as he got up too. He extended his hand and Jim shook it.

 

“I hope I won’t regret this.”

 

“You won’t, Jim Gordon. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald didn’t waste much time; a few days later the media already reported that former detective James Gordon, now the most effective bounty hunter of the city, was in his employment, cleaning the streets of Gotham of Doctor Strange’s monsters. Jim only found out because Harvey called him.

 

“Are you mad?!”

 

“Not so loud,” Jim grunted, screwing his eyes shut. His head felt like exploding, he couldn’t deal with yelling at ten in the morning.

 

“Tell me it’s not true,” Harvey said, voice considerably quieter. “Tell me you’re not working for that rat.”

 

“So what if I am? I’m doing the same thing as before, but with extra money,” Jim replied, closing his eyes.

 

“That’s what he told you, I guess, to get you to join his campaign. He’s just using you, Jimbo.”

 

“I won’t let him, Harvey,” Jim promised. “If he’s pulling some bullshit, I’m out of there. We only had a verbal agreement, no signed contract or anything.”

 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Harvey sighed. “Wishing you good luck then, I guess.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Even though Jim knew he would be unable to fall asleep, he remained in his warm bed. He had absolutely no will to get out, and besides, what was the point? Nothing to do, nothing worth getting out of bed for, no one to meet. No purpose in life. Jim’s mind decided to take a break from his depressing thoughts, and despite his earlier resolution, he fell asleep without even noticing.

 

A while later, Jim was woken up by his phone. It was a message from Oswald ‒ Jim only briefly wondered how the gangster got his number ‒ informing him of the whereabouts of an Arkham escapee. Jim got up, feeling slightly energised by the prospect of something to do and a wad of cash. None of his other sources had informed him of this, so Jim hoped that he wouldn’t have any competition. Maybe being ‘friends’ with Oswald had its advantages.

 

* * *

 

 

Jim got home late in the afternoon, an ugly bruise blooming on his jaw. He slammed the door, then went straight to the bathroom to wash his face. He felt like punching a wall; he was so furious he wanted to hurt himself. Another Arkham creature that had slipped through his fingers, and to top it all, it was Jim’s first hunt as Cobblepot’s employee. He thought the gangster wouldn’t mind, as long as the media didn’t find out. That might involve ridicule, and Cobblepot was hypersensitive to that. Damn it.

 

It was better to let him know, so Jim quickly typed a text. ‘ _Weirdo escaped. Let me know if there’s new info on him._ ’ He knew he shouldn’t, but Jim reached for an opened bottle of vodka. He couldn’t deal with yet another failure, he just couldn’t. The vodka dribbled down the side of his mouth, but Jim let it trickle down his neck and t-shirt. He didn’t give a fuck about it. He only stopped drinking when he felt his lungs run out of air, his throat burning.

 

Before dizziness enveloped him, Jim made it up to the roof somehow, climbed the stairs as fast as he could, his shirt clinging to his sweaty back uncomfortable. He was out of breath by the time he got there, his face flushed from the effort, but the breeze made it better. It had been pleasantly warm in the past week, but it still got a bit chilly in the evenings. Jim let the cool air wash over him, keeping at bay his tears. Instead, he screamed and screamed, the wind carrying his voice away to nowhere, just like the other sighs and cries of the unhappy.

 

Jim stumbled on the roof, his feet unsteady, screaming and crying again. With a madly beating heart, he approached the edge. _What if_ … he thought briefly, the idea so inviting and brilliant in its simplicity that it knocked the air out of his lungs. How had he not thought about it before? It would be so much quicker than imbibing all that alcohol and waiting for his body to give up and shut down.

 

The height scared him, though. Jim couldn’t even go to the proper edge, just stand a foot away, hyper aware of the car noises coming from below and his erratic breathing. He buried his face in his hands, and tried to think clearly, which was difficult when the whole world was spinning. _Get back to the apartment_. The thought popped up in Jim’s mind, and he held onto it, telling himself that everything would be alright once he got back.

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald had been itching to call Jim for the past two hours since the detective messaged him that the Arkham monster got away, but he was trapped in a meeting. He was worried about Jim, very much so. The first time Oswald had seen Jim since he returned to Gotham, it was like seeing the former detective’s ghost: hollow cheeks, haunted eyes, aura of misery surrounding him.

 

The mob boss had people keep their eyes on Jim, and their reports were always the same: Jim was in this bar or that bar, getting stupidly drunk and then going back to his motel. Oswald wasn’t sure how long Jim’s liver would be able to hold up, so he left a note in Bullock’s office, informing him of Jim’s whereabouts. Even though he disliked the detective, he knew Bullock was probably Jim’s only true friend.

 

Oswald was right; after that meeting Jim seemed to return to reason: he got an apartment and started bounty hunting, but he was clearly still on a self-destructive path. Oswald couldn’t watch him do that, though, and so he offered Jim the job, in the hopes that he would at least rid the bounty hunter of financial worries. He wasn’t upset about Jim missing the escapee, but he wondered what had happened.

 

Therefore, as soon as the meeting was over, Oswald went to Jim’s apartment, to see what had happened. He was sure that Jim must have encountered something unexpected, and if so, Oswald’s informant would get into serious trouble. The door to Jim’s apartment was ajar which already alarmed Oswald. He pushed it gently, calling out. “Jim? Are you here?”

 

There was no reply, but Oswald entered, looking around with apprehension. In the dim light, he could see that the few pieces of furniture were all over the place and overturned, signs that a struggle had taken place. “Jim?” Oswald called out again, moving things from his path with his cane. There was a faint grunt coming from the corner of the room ‒ it was then that Oswald noticed Jim sitting with his back to the wall in a corner, holding an ice pack against his jaw. He had several head injuries, and judging by how he was holding his side, his ribs were probably hurting.

 

“What happened to you?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Like hell, nothing!” Jim looked up in surprise at Oswald’s tone. “Who beat you up?”

 

“That Arkham escapee I missed today,” Jim admitted grudgingly. “Got him now, though.”

 

Oswald was a bit creeped out by the smile Jim flashed him ‒ his teeth were covered in a bit of blood from the punch he’d probably received in the fight, and he had an equally frightening, crazed look in his blue eyes. Oswald shook his head, then looked in the direction Jim pointed, and saw an unconscious man cuffed to the radiator. Oswald wanted to have a better look at Jim’s injuries, but he knew the man would not allow it.

 

“You must move, Jim,” he said instead, gripping his cane tightly, so that his hand would not reach out.

 

“What for?”

 

“A dangerous creature followed you back home. This apartment is not safe anymore.”

 

Jim scoffed. “I’ll be more careful.”

 

“You keep saying that, Jim, but I always seem to find you in tough situations.”

 

“Well, my job is like that.”

 

“You need a haven of refuge, a place where you can let down your guard after all the bounty hunting. This apartment has been compromised. What if the other creatures come after you?”

 

Jim shrugged, his impassivity making Oswald pour more anger in his voice than intended. “You _must_ move.”

 

“Leave me alone, Penguin. I can take care of myself.”

 

Oswald huffed, turned on his heel and walked away haughtily. Jim would die because of his obstinacy, and Oswald told himself that he wouldn’t care a bit, even though he was already making plans in his head.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you, but those new gobblepot pics gave me life! I hope this new chapter will also lift your mood!

**Splintered Darkness**

**Chapter 3.**

 

The check Jim received from the GCPD for the newest escapee only made him feel slightly better. He deserved it, of course, he did, though Jim couldn’t help but perceive it as charity. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that he’d worked hard for that money, was even beaten up for it, Jim felt queasy, as if he wasn’t supposed to do this. But it paid the bills, he wasn’t late with the rent, and he could afford food and booze.

 

A couple of days later, as Jim returned from a shopping trip where he got himself a reading lamp (he decided he should read the books gathering dust in one of the boxes), he found an envelope stashed under his door. He put down the lamp’s box on a table, then bent down to retrieve the envelope. There was no name on it, but inside there was a cheque addressed to him from Oswald Cobblepot with a pretty impressive sum, if he saw it well.

 

Jim went to turn on the lights, but nothing happened. Cursing the power outage, he went to the window to check if he really got that amount of money from Cobblepot. He put the cheque back into the envelope, tapping it against his palm. He’d made a deal with the man, but they had never talked about the money Jim would receive for his ‘services’. And anyway, what kind of services was he providing? As far as he knew, his capture wasn’t even reported by the media, so what did Penguin actually gain from this?

 

With nothing else to do, Jim sat down in his armchair, desperately grasping at a safe topic to think about, but his mind always returning to Oswald. Could he accept the check? Would it be fair, after everything? Or was this some kind of plot Oswald tried to get him involved in, make Jim feel as if he were owned by him? Would he be dragged deeper into the world of shadows?

 

Feeling restless, Jim got up and tried the light again, then his TV, but it seemed like this power outage was going to take a while. He tucked in the envelope inside the inner pocket of his leather jacket, and decided to pay Penguin another visit, see if maybe he could get another glimpse at the real Oswald, not the one hiding behind the darkened glass.

 

Once Jim made it inside the manor, he instantly realised he dropped by in the worst possible moment. The room he had been showed in the previous time, as well as the adjoining one, were full of hardworking people, making phone calls or designing Oswald’s campaign. Jim watched amazed at the people walking up and down and yelling questions to each other, until his gaze landed on Oswald who was inspecting some documents or drawings – Jim couldn’t tell – while the young woman sitting at the desk seemed to be explaining them.

 

Jim could pinpoint the exact moment Oswald noticed that someone was watching him: he stilled, his shoulder became stiff, and he straightened his back. But when he turned and realised that it was Jim, his whole posture relaxed, and he instantly came towards Jim, who had awkwardly stopped at the door.

 

“What a surprise, Jim! You look much better than the last time I saw you.”

 

Oswald reached out and managed to briefly touch Jim’s jaw before Jim looked the other way, heat spreading on his cheeks and the back of his neck. Nevertheless, the gangster still kept his gaze on the bruise. “Does it hurt?”

 

Jim looked around, but all the people working on Oswald’s campaign were busy, none of them paying attention to their boss and a rugged ex-cop. Jim shook his head, the blush from his cheeks invading every cell of his body. He had the impression as if someone had just injected him with something revitalising, and his body was finally waking up. Did Oswald really care about him? How could he after everything? Jim might have been mistaken, but the glass barrier between them felt less cold, less oppressive.

 

With a sigh, he took out the envelope, Oswald’s eyes flashing with recognition as Jim placed it in his hand. “Oswald… this, this is way too much. I can’t take it.”

 

“Nonsense. I gave you a task, and you fulfilled it on the same day. I’m just sorry that you got hurt in the process.”

 

“But…”

 

“I know what you want to say,” Oswald stepped closer to the bounty hunter, his hand briefly touching Jim’s as he gave Jim back the envelope. “That you would have done this anyway, even without monetary reward, and I know you would have. That’s precisely why I have chosen you – for your good heart.”

 

Jim wanted to contradict Oswald; he definitely didn’t have a good heart, not anymore. It was tarnished and sooty by all the bad things he’d done and the dark thoughts that seemed to cloud his mind constantly. But then Oswald squeezed his hand as if he knew what was going on in Jim’s mind, and Jim remained silent, absorbing the warmth emanating from Oswald’s hand.

 

“Mr. Cobblepot, Ms. Peters is on line two,” one of Oswald’s employees interrupted them.

 

“Just a second.”

 

Even though the moment had passed, Jim missed Oswald touch.

 

“Have you started looking for a new apartment?”

 

Confused, Jim shook his head. “No. I told you, it’s fine. That was a one-time thing, it won’t happen again.”

 

Oswald was clearly displeased with Jim’s reply, but he didn’t comment further upon it. “Alright. I have to go now, but I’ll contact you if I hear about any other escapees. Goodbye, Jim.”

 

The bounty hunter nodded, stalling by the door as he watched Oswald limp to the telephone in the corner, plastering a big smile on his face, even though his interlocutor couldn’t see him. Jim left, making a conscious effort not to think about his feelings.

 

* * *

 

 

In the evening, Oswald was sitting in his office, his bones aching with the satisfaction of a day spent with meaningful, hard work. He poured himself a glass of wine, sipping it carefully, enjoying all its subtle flavours. His mind was buzzing with thousands of thoughts, but he pushed aside the ones related to the campaign, and let his mind settle on the memory of Jim’s most recent visit.

 

Oswald was still concerned about Jim, though not as much as at their previous meeting in the bounty hunter’s apartment. There had been something frightening about the feral look in his eyes, the blown pupils. But today, Oswald could see the old Jim shining through the negligent appearance, the Jim who was fair and generous, but irremediably stubborn. Oswald had left him to his own devices for long enough, it was time to intervene.

 

The phone rang twice before someone replied.

 

“Tomorrow at noon. He will be gone for a couple of hours, so you can do what we’ve discussed in peace. Thank you.”

 

Oswald put down his phone with a content sigh. Not long now.

 

* * *

 

 

Jim drove to the area indicated by Oswald in his text message, parking his car a few streets away from the abandoned warehouses. Before he got out, he noticed in the mirror that he had missed a spot when he’d shaved ‒ the electricity still hadn’t returned by that morning, and it was getting very irritating. He felt like he had returned to the medieval times, for he was forced to live in darkness.

 

As he was walking to the location, Jim surveyed the area. The grey and dilapidated buildings were the perfect hideaway for the escapees, so he had to be careful and thorough in his search. He would have to examine every corner, while also making sure that his presence wouldn’t be noticed.

 

He looked through the buildings methodically, leaving no stone unturned, and yet he hadn’t found anyone. In fact, he saw no signs of anyone ever having lived there. Jim was getting more frustrated as he progressed through the buildings and the various floors, and he cursed silently. By the time he was done with the last warehouse, he was tired and sweaty. There was nothing else for him to do, so he returned to his car. Cobblepot’s informant must have been wrong.

 

On the way home, all Jim could think about was the nap he was going to take, despite it being early afternoon. He promptly avoided thinking about how he spent most of his free time sleeping, just like he avoided thinking about how he’d been avoiding most things lately.  He’d tell himself that he would think about a particular matter later, but then there was always a scotch bottle near him, whose consumption was easier than facing the growing darkness inside himself.

 

Jim was climbing the stairs to his apartment when he noticed that something was wrong: two of his neighbours were knocking on his door rather desperately.

 

“Mr. Gordon, open up!”

 

“I’m here, what’s the matter?”

 

“I think a pipe burst in your apartment! Look, you’re flooding the whole floor!” one of the old women exclaimed, pointing at her feet.

 

It was only then that Jim noticed the water flowing from under his door and pouring down the stairs. He quickly got his key from his pocket, his hand trembling as he tried to turn it in the lock. His neighbours were peering inside his flat apprehensively as Jim assessed the damage. Not only was there a burst pipe in the kitchen, but also one in the bathroom, and the tub was overflowing with water as well. Jim had, indeed, taken a bath before he went out, but he thought he had turned off the tap. Judging by his mental state, though, he wouldn’t have sworn that he had really done it, or just wanted to.

 

He turned off the tap and then the water supply in the bathroom and kitchen, but the damage was done already; everything was wet and ruined, and the burst pipes were still pouring water, though not as much as before. Jim looked through the apartment in shock, not quite sure what to do next.

 

“You need to inform the landlord, dear,” one of his neighbours advised him. “He’ll call a plumber and get it sorted.”

 

The two ladies left, and Jim sat down on a dry stair step, leaning against the wall as he called the landlord and explained the situation. He held the phone away from his ear when the man started shouting. Jim was so numb that he didn’t even get up until the landlord arrived with the plumber. He listened impassively as the landlord shouted at him, telling Jim that his deposit wouldn’t be given back, and that he’d have to pay for the reparations.

 

Jim nodded, too weak to fight, even though he knew the landlord was supposed to pay for the plumber. He just didn’t feel like getting into an argument with the man whose head was getting so red that it looked like it was going to explode soon. They had been waiting for a while when Jim’s phone rang. He finally got up to have some privacy. However, when he looked at the screen, he went white. It was Oswald, and Jim had completely forgotten about informing him about his unsuccessful mission. _Crap_.

 

“Hello, James.”

 

“Oswald, I am so sorry that I forgot to call you, but there’s been an emergency, and it just slipped my mind-”

 

“Slow down, Jim. What happened?”

 

“I couldn’t find anything at the warehouses,” Jim admitted.

 

“No, not that. You said there was some kind of emergency?”

 

“Oh, um, burst pipes in my flat. Everything is ruined, the landlord is threatening to kick me out. I’m screwed,” Jim chuckled nervously, rubbing his forehead.

 

Oswald sighed. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

 

“What? No, there’s no need-” Jim said, but by then Oswald had already hung up.

 

True to his word, Oswald did arrive soon, and Jim couldn’t help the relief that flooded him when he looked up at the gangster’s calm face. He looked impeccable, as always, but now he represented salvation to Jim. Oswald extended his right hand. “Let’s see what we can do about this.”

 

Jim took the offered hand, and got up from the stairs, leading Oswald to his landlord, who didn’t look happy that his lodger got backup. In fact, Oswald asked Jim to see how the plumber was progressing with the work in the bathroom, and although Jim didn’t really like his landlord, he wasn’t sure if he should leave him alone with Oswald. He complied in the end, so that the gangster wouldn’t make a scene.

 

The plumber was almost finished; he explained to Jim what the problem was, and how he solved it.

 

“I hope that old jackass won’t make you pay for it. Honestly, the whole building is ancient,” he said as he put away his equipment.

 

The landlord was gone as well by then, so it was just Oswald and Jim assessing the damage.

 

“You don’t have to worry about anything, Jim. He will pay for everything, and you’re not kicked out.”

 

Jim put his hands on his hips. “How did you…? He was threatening me with a lawsuit.”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Oswald replied mysteriously. “Pack some things, and then we can go.”

 

“Go where?”

 

“To the manor, silly. You didn’t want to stay in this wet mess, did you?”

 

Jim hoped the semi-darkness of the room hid his blush. “I can’t accept, I-”

 

“Of course, you can.”

 

“No, Oswald, you already did so much.”

 

Oswald stepped closer, Jim’s breathing speeding up. “I insist.”

 

The look in his green eyes was so intense that Jim just stood there, mesmerised.

 

“Just for a few days, until I clean up this place.”

 

“Very well,” Oswald added and when he smiled, Jim could have sworn that the room became less dark, as if the shadows had retreated to the corners. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

  
Only while packing did Jim realise what he had agreed to. He was going to live together with Oswald Cobblepot for at least a week, judging by the state of his apartment. He sneaked a bottle of scotch in his duffel bag, just to be safe, but Jim knew he wasn’t ready for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you go, I'd like to bring the [Gobblepot Spring 2017](http://gobblepotgazette.tumblr.com/post/158517680774/gobblepot-spring-2017) to your attention. :) We would appreciate it immensely if you participated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited about this chapter, I hope you'll like it as well. Have a lovely weekend and let me know what you think. :)

Oswald couldn’t suppress a giddy smile as he looked at Jim getting into the limousine; he quickly rearranged his features, though, so that Jim wouldn’t become suspicious. Oswald knew he would have to be extra careful from then on, and he was aware that he needed to give Jim space, let him get used to the new circumstances. Otherwise the former detective might just run away, and never trust Oswald again, or worse, just ruin his career and life. Oswald couldn’t let that happen.

 

However, the temptation to reach out and touch Jim’s hand was rather strong. Luckily, Jim had placed his duffel bag between them, though if it was a conscious or unconscious effort to put some space between them, Oswald couldn’t tell. Jim looked lost in his thoughts as he was watching the city through the window, so Oswald didn’t bother him. He knew that Jim was still experiencing awkwardness, so he promised to let him adjust, but Oswald would keep an eye on him.

 

* * *

 

 

Jim still felt overwhelmed by the events of the day, his head hurting from all the thoughts buzzing inside it and crashing against his skull. He just needed a bit of peace and quiet to make order in his mind. Luckily, Cobblepot showed him to his room as soon as they arrived, and assured Jim that Olga, his maid, would bring him some dinner. Jim was sure that he’d managed to offend Oswald with his sulky attitude, but he didn’t have any energy left for niceties. He would try to be a better guest on the next day.

 

“Tomorrow morning when you’re hungry, just go downstairs to the living room for breakfast. Olga will prepare it for you. You’re free to come and go as you please, of course.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Oswald looked at Jim for a last time before he went to the door. “I’m down this hall, the last room on the right, if you need me. Good night, Jim.”

 

“Night.”

 

After the dinner that was brought to him, Jim went directly to bed, which was so much nicer than the shabby, lumpy piece in his apartment. The linens were soft and smelled clean, so Jim fell asleep instantly, finally having a restful night.

 

The next morning, Jim took a clean shirt from his bag and washed up, trying to delay the moment he would need to get out of his room. As soon as he closed the door behind himself, his heart rate went up. He listened carefully, but the house was quiet. He looked towards the room Oswald had indicated as his, but there was no movement. Finally, with his heart in his mouth, Jim descended the stairs, looking unsure as he stepped inside the living room.

 

The table was set for one person, all kinds of delicacies laid out on it, from various pastries and jam to scrambled eggs and bacon. Jim suddenly realised how hungry he was, but since there was only one plate, it must have been for Oswald.

 

“Ah, Mister Gordon,” Olga greeted him. “Would you like me to make some coffee for you?”

 

“Morning. Uhm, yes, thank you.”

 

“Sit down, sit down. I’ll bring coffee soon.”

 

Jim hesitated. “Isn’t this for Oswald?”

 

“Mister Cobblepot left an hour ago. Very important meeting.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Jim’s self-consciousness slowly faded away as Olga let him eat alone after bringing him coffee. Jim thought he’d eat modestly, but everything was just so delicious and he hadn’t had proper food in way too long, so he dug in eagerly. While eating, he was thinking about his options for the day. He wanted to go back to his apartment and clean up what he could, maybe put away the things that hadn’t been damaged.

 

Even though he couldn’t do too much yet, Jim spent most of the day at the apartment. He went through his things, to see what had been damaged and what was salvageable. Unfortunately, his box of books had been affected too ‒ Jim was particularly upset about a copy of _The Little Prince_ that got damaged slightly, the corners of the pages becoming wavy. This book meant so much to him, because it used to belong to his father ‒ on the first page, in childish handwriting, the name Peter Gordon was still visible. Jim put it aside, in the pile of things he wanted to take with himself.

 

By the time Jim finished sorting his things, it got late. He managed to pack away the boxes into the bedroom which was dry, and also take some stuff with him that he’d need in the next days, especially clothes. He didn’t want to borrow anything from Cobblepot. What could he give Jim, a shirt that would look on him as if it had shrunk in the washing machine? Before going back to the manor, Jim bought a couple of hotdogs, eating them while walking to his car.

 

When he got back, Jim took the box with the things he brought from his apartment, and awkwardly knocked on the manor’s door. Olga let him in, raising an eyebrow as she checked the box Jim was holding.

 

“Mister Cobblepot is in the dining room. Do you want to have dinner with him?”

 

“No, thank you.”

 

Unfortunately, Jim had to pass through the dining room in order to get to the stairs. He felt the back of his neck prickle as he stepped inside and Oswald looked up at him.

 

“Hey, Oswald.”

 

“Jim! Come sit down and have some dinner.”

 

“It’s okay, I grabbed some food before coming back. I’m really tired, I’ll go upstairs.”

 

Oswald seemed disappointed, but only for a moment. “Of course. Rest well.”

 

Jim nodded, telling himself that there was no reason to feel guilty. He didn’t owe Oswald anything. To busy his mind, he started unpacking, placing his clothes in the wardrobe. He remembered the bottle of scotch he brought with him the previous day. However, when he checked under his bed, it wasn’t there. He looked in the entire room, but there was no sign of his scotch ‒ Jim reckoned that Olga must have cleaned the room and threw it out. Good thing he brought over the bottles he could find in his apartment ‒ he couldn’t go ransacking Oswald’s cabinet whenever he needed a fix.

 

The next day was passed in a similar manner, though Jim spent most of the afternoon in Gotham’s Central Park, just reading and relaxing in the sun. He took his time going back to the manor, though there was nothing to worry about: Oswald wasn’t downstairs to greet him. Jim wasn’t even sure why he was avoiding him, but he suspected it was weird living under a roof with one’s boss. This was just a temporary awkward situation that would soon be fixed.

 

However, as Jim was prepared to have a ‘fun’ night with his favourite drinks, he discovered that his bottles were gone yet again. He was a hundred percent sure that he had put them inside the wardrobe, so that Olga wouldn’t throw them away by accident. Just as Jim was trying to keep his rage under control, he heard Oswald’s muffled voice, and he threw caution to the wind, slamming his door open.

 

“Oh, James, I didn’t know you were home already,” Oswald exclaimed as he got to the top of the stairs.

 

The sincerity of his smile irritated Jim so much that he found himself advancing on Oswald, backing him against a wall.

 

“Where are they, Cobblepot?!”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jim.” It was as if a shadow had just passed over Oswald’s eyes, their colour suddenly dark and murky.

 

Jim leaned in, words flying out of his mouth with rage. “You know it damn well. My drinks. Where are they?”

 

“If you’re referring to those cheap poisons you hid in your room, well, I think you should ask the drainer in the kitchen ‒ perhaps it got better acquainted with them,” Oswald snapped.

 

Jim thought he was going to explode, and he pummeled the wall right beside Oswald’s head. To the gangster’s credit, he only blinked once, not an ounce of fear showing on his face.

 

“How dare you?! That was mine! You had no fucking right to snoop in my things!”

 

“I do, if it means it’s affecting your performance!” Oswald yelled back, leaning forward. “You can’t even get your day started without some alcohol in your system!”

 

Jim’s hands gripped Oswald’s shoulders painfully, and pushed him against the wall again. “That’s not true! I can stop.”

 

“I can stop anytime,” Jim whispered with less conviction, his hands falling to his sides.

 

Oswald sighed, his voice much softer. “Really, Jim, it’s time to face the facts. I know it’s hard to admit it. Your hands aren’t trembling because you’re angry.”

 

Indeed, as Jim looked down, his hands were shaking, and heat rushing to his face. Oswald was watching him curiously, so Jim pushed him aside and rushed down the stairs. He didn’t know where he was going, but he needed to get out, otherwise he’d suffocate if he let the thoughts from the darkest corner of his mind roam freely.

 

* * *

 

 

Jim ended up walking along the road leading to the city. He was concentrated on stepping exactly on the painted line, ignoring the few cars passing him by. _You’re an alcoholic. You’re a failure. You fucked up._ His thoughts were running in a circle, enclosing him, and he couldn’t avoid them. There was no escape from his own mind.

 

Jim knew very well that Oswald was right: he did have an alcohol problem that was getting out of hand. He escaped into the temporary amnesia booze gave him, that liminal space where he didn’t have to think about anything, where he wasn’t constantly tortured by the voice in his head telling him what a loser he was, where he didn’t have to worry about what he was going to do with his future.

 

He was about halfway between the city and the Van Dahl mansion when Jim stopped. If he proceeded, he could very easily end up at one of the decrepit bars in Gotham which never seemed to close, where people just disappeared days on end. Jim didn’t want that; he couldn’t run away again.

 

So he turned on his heels, and walked back to Oswald’s manor, approaching it with growing trepidation. Would he find his things thrown out on the lawn? Oswald surely had enough of his bullshit, and in the best case, because he was a gentleman, he’d tell Jim to move the next day. In all honesty, Jim would completely deserve to be forsaken even by Gotham’s most infamous gangster.

 

However, his things weren’t flung out around the property, and Jim let out a relieved breath. It was really late, though, and he didn’t have a key. Jim was wondering whether he could climb to his room on the side of the manor when the door opened quietly. It was Gabe, beckoning Jim to go inside.

 

“Boss said you might come back.”

 

“Thanks, Gabe.” Jim blushed as he passed by the man, then stopped. “Was he… was he very angry?”

 

“Not angry, just worried.”

 

Jim’s chest hurt even more, but he didn’t say anything, just nodded and then went to his room. He lied awake for several hours before he fell in a restless sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Jim woke up very late, and he was so confused that he needed a moment to remember why his room looked different. He let out a grunt at the memory of what had happened the previous day. He was still mad at Oswald, but also at himself.  As usual, the house was empty, save for Olga who was dusting the living room.

 

Jim spent the afternoon in the park again, not wanting to waste the last hours of sunshine. When it was getting too dark to read, and he wondered what he could do, Jim realised he hadn’t seen Harvey in a while, guiltiness enveloping him tightly. Jim knew he was a lousy friend, and didn’t deserve Harvey’s company; nevertheless, he sent a text to his former partner, asking whether Harvey had time to have lunch with him. He replied almost instantly; it sounded like Harvey was eager to get out and see Jim.

 

An hour later, the two men met in a diner they had frequented in the old days. Jim was glad to see a familiar face, and smiled when Harvey said that he didn’t look as if a truck had run over him. They were in the middle of their meal when Harvey asked dreaded questions about Jim’s new job.

 

“So how is it going with the bounty hunting?”

 

“It’s alright,” Jim replied curtly, and bit into his burger so he wouldn’t have to say anything else.

 

“You know, I was surprised not to find you at the scene earlier. I thought Cobblepot would take you with him on hunts, wasn’t that what he hired you for?”

 

Jim frowned. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, the attack… wait, you don’t know about this?”

 

It was as if Jim’s blood stopped flowing in his veins, his whole body becoming cold in an instant. “What attack?”

 

Harvey sighed. “It did seem strange that you wanted to meet now. Well, as far as I know, Penguin went on a hunt, and this creature he was after almost suffocated him. That big guy who works for Penguin got out of the car to check on his boss, and found this lizard man with his claws around Cobblepot’s throat. He’s okay, no big deal. We were called to arrest the weirdo.”

 

Jim stared at the table while Harvey continued eating, unaware of the turmoil he’d plunged his former colleague into. Jim drank his coke, tapping his right foot nervously. He didn’t want to be rude, but he needed to get back to the manor. Through the fog of numbness and disinterest that had been plaguing him for months, his worry shone through like a saving beacon. It was a proof that he was still feeling, that the dark coils inside of him hadn’t smothered his humanity.

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald was staring at the ceiling, his fingers going numb from holding the ice pack against his head. His throat didn’t hurt that much anymore, but his voice was still hoarse, so after the police took his declaration, Oswald hadn’t uttered a word. His head was hurt when that stupid creature had thrown him to the ground when she realised Gabe was about to take her prey away. Oswald closed his eyes, trying to forget his embarrassing encounter.

 

Just as he was on the brink of falling asleep on the couch, there was an urgent knocking on the front door. Olga would open it, of course, but Oswald’s eyes flew open too, glaring with sleepy eyes at the person who dared to interrupt his nap. His eyes widened when Jim entered the room with hurried steps, his chest rising and falling.

 

“Oswald? Are you okay?!”

 

For several seconds, Oswald just stared at him, unable to say anything. It was like Jim had finally checked back into life, the look in his eyes not vacant anymore, but ablaze with emotions.

 

“I’m fine,” Oswald whispered finally, sliding down on the sofa a bit, so he could see Jim properly.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know… Harvey told me about what happened. You should have let me deal with the escapee,” Jim sighed, then sat down on the sofa, staring at the carpet.

 

“You were sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you.”

 

Jim gulped, Oswald watching with fascination the multitude of expressions flickering on his face, even though Jim still avoided looking into Oswald’s eyes. “Just promise to let me know when you go next time, alright?”

 

“I promise.”

  
They sat in comfortable silence, both men feeling relieved, knowing that they made an unsaid pact of always being honest with each other from then on.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, I always had the next chapter ready when posting, but I've been very busy this week and I barely have like 500 words of chapter 6. Nevertheless, I promised to post every weekend, so here it is, my favourite chapter so far. Hope you like it. :)

Jim made sure to set an alarm for the next day. He had enough time to wash up and shave comfortably before he heard Oswald’s door opening. He breathed in deeply before he left his room and went downstairs. Oswald was already at the table, reading the newspaper.

 

“Morning,” Jim greeted him, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he felt.

 

“Morning,” Oswald said carefully, not entirely successful in hiding his surprise. “Would you like to have breakfast with me?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Olga, we’ll need one more plate.”

 

Once the coffee was brought in as well, Jim started eating. He’d hoped Oswald would initiate the conversation, but it seemed like he left it up to Jim.

 

“How’s your head doing?”

 

“Oh, it’s better, thank you for asking.”

 

Jim waited a few minutes, but Oswald didn’t say anything else, so it fell on him again to carry on their dialogue. “So, what does your schedule for today look like?”

 

Oswald looked at Jim with wide eyes. “An interview for The Insider on Channel 1… and some meetings with businessmen, trying to convince them to make donations.”

 

Jim swallowed the piece of toast he was chewing, then wiped his lips. “I’d like to accompany you, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Accompany me?” This time, Oswald could not hide his shock.

 

“Well, you got hurt yesterday.”

 

“I’m not blaming you for that, Jim.”

 

“Maybe you should,” Jim said lowly, not looking at the gangster.

 

“But I’m not,” Oswald insisted and reached over to squeeze Jim’s left hand briefly. “Of course, you’re welcome to join me, but I must warn you that these errands will be rather dull.”

 

Jim’s skin tingled where Oswald had touched it, but he didn’t attribute any meaning to it, thinking that it was because he hadn’t had any contact with anyone for months. Instead, he just said “I’ll survive”, and continued drinking his coffee.

 

The ride to the TV channel was spent in silence ‒ Oswald was preparing for the interview by reading something on his tablet, and Jim didn’t want to disturb him, as he seemed uncharacteristically tense. Jim wondered whether Oswald was nervous about this, but he didn’t see why it would be so, since the gangster always seemed so confident and he had an answer for everything.

 

As soon as he entered the building, however, Oswald put on his public mask, the one that was polite, but impenetrable with a slightly condescending smile. Jim shook his head slightly, following him like a shadow. An assistant led them to a spacious room where several cameras have been set up in front of two armchairs.

 

“Mr. Cobblepot! Welcome!” A tall, elegant woman with very red nails greeted Oswald, leaning down a bit to kiss his cheeks.

 

“Elena! Please, just call me Oswald.”

 

Jim retreated to a corner as Oswald was snatched away by the interviewer. Jim wasn’t sure why he’d been preparing for the interview - this Elena seemed very friendly, and they knew each other.

 

However, as soon as the interview started, it was clear that Elena ‒ or Ms. Papadakis as Oswald called her during the interview ‒ was not going to go easy on Oswald just because they knew each other. Jim thought her questions were rather sharp and sometimes even intrusive. He couldn’t say that he wasn’t enjoying seeing Oswald squirm a bit, so he crossed his arms and listened intently.

 

“Mr. Cobblepot, your candidacy sparked a lot of controversy among people. Pardon my frankness, but you are infamous for your underground business rather than your political activity. What made you get involved in the elections?”

 

“Well, Ms. Papadakis, I’m sure we can all agree that Gotham is not in a very good place right now. I’m not trying to blame anyone, but the city’s had the same mayor for almost ten years now, and the situation got progressively worse. I’m a businessman too, and I know it’s hard, but sometimes you just have to face the facts and admit that things aren’t going well, and that you need to try something new in order to survive.”

 

“Are you this something new then? What do you think you have that Mayor James doesn’t?”

 

Oswald nodded. “I believe I am. We need a new strategy to get through this difficult period, but that’s not enough. What makes me stand out is that I love this city with all my heart. It’s not the most beautiful or cleanest in the world, but it’s _my_ city, my _home_. I want people to be safe, to have opportunities and to be proud of living here.”

 

It was obvious that the interviewer expected a different answer, and to be honest, Jim did too. Whenever Oswald brought up his love for Gotham, Jim brushed it aside as a pretext covering some kind of greed or hunger for power. But now, maybe because the words weren’t directed at him, Jim believed Oswald. That passion in his eyes couldn’t be faked.

 

Since Oswald had told him about his candidacy plans, Jim hadn’t really considered them, too busy with his personal issues. Of course, his first reaction was ‘Dear god, why?!’, but Oswald was right: why should Mayor James be reelected? What had he ever done for Gotham? He was corrupt and only chased his own interest, not the city’s. Oswald was a criminal, but at least he was preoccupied by the fate of the city. Certainly his motive behind catching the Arkham escapees was to finally get his revenge on Fish Mooney, but this was also something positive for the city.

 

Even though he hadn’t been paying attention, Jim realised that the interviewer had asked about Oswald’s concrete plans. He talked freely and gave exhaustive data, proving that he didn’t just enter the elections for fame. He promised better schools and facilities, more jobs and a safer city. Jim was impressed not only by all the information Oswald knew and could recall easily, but also by how much conviction there was in his voice and gestures. He really wanted this. Jim knew that Oswald was a formidable force, and he would do anything to see his plans accomplished. If he was capable of aligning his personal interests with the city’s, then Gotham could flourish again.

 

The interviewer too seemed satisfied with the responses, so she soon ended the interview. As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, her demeanor changed. Although Jim couldn’t hear what they were talking about, it seemed like Elena was congratulating Oswald. He laughed and after they kissed each other’s cheeks, Oswald said goodbye and looked for Jim. A small smile appeared on his lips as he spotted the bounty hunter, and he walked towards him.

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald sighed in relief as the limousine was heading towards his favourite Italian bistro. He survived the interview with Elena ‒ she was a lovely friend, but very tough reporter ‒ so he needed to relax a bit before his meeting with the businessmen. He was just checking his emails, most of them from his campaign manager, when Jim started talking.

 

“I thought your interview went really well.”

 

“Oh, thank you. It was a really important one, so I’m glad you had that impression,” Oswald replied, surprised yet again.

 

Jim seemed to make an effort when it came to socialising with his host ever since the incident where Oswald got hurt in the monster hunt. Oswald was already content when Jim had asked about the state of his head that morning ‒ he didn’t want to force anything, but let the bounty hunter initiate everything in his own pace. So when Jim stated that he would accompany Oswald on his errands, Oswald tried not to show just how happy that made him.

 

“Your replies were on point and you supported everything with strong arguments. I’m sure your numbers will go up,” Jim said.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Just… please stick to those promises. The people of Gotham are sick and tired of being promised the moon, but not getting anything.”

 

Oswald and Jim were staring at each other, until the gangster looked away. “I intend to do all those things, Jim. I wasn’t just saying them to lure people into voting for me.”

 

After a moment’s silence, Jim quietly added: “I know.”

 

Once they arrived to the location of the meeting, Oswald started feeling rather anxious again. Not because of the meeting itself or the people, but because maybe he shouldn’t have brought Jim here. While these men were prominent Gotham businessmen, they didn’t make their fortune in the most honest way. Jim might not be a detective anymore, but he still cared about such things, Oswald knew.

 

“Don’t say anything and especially don’t _do_ anything.” He avoided Jim’s eyes as he uttered the words.

 

Oswald felt Jim’s stare at the back of his neck, but the bounty hunter didn’t say anything, not even when a security guy checked him for weapons. They were led into a spacious room with a huge table, most of the seats taken already. Oswald was invited to the seat on the left side of the leader. Jim retreated a few steps, following the lead of the other security people around the room.

 

This wasn’t Oswald’s first meeting with these people and their displays of power never intimidated him, not even when he was much lower on the ladder. He knew what to say and where to insert a smile or joke in order to break the cold atmosphere. Everything was going well, and Oswald was sure he was on the right path when one of the men whom he didn’t know that much interrupted him.

 

“This is all well, but you didn’t tell us what would happen in case you lose the mayoral race… How would we get our money back?” The man leaned forward on the table, his eyes becoming darker. “Or do we need to use more serious _persuasive_ methods?”

 

Oswald could see from the corner of his eye that the threat made Jim step forward, triggering the other security guys around the table who were ready to tackle him. The businessman who made the comment barely reacted; he just kept staring at Oswald with narrowed eyes. Oswald held his hand up slightly, to communicate to Jim that everything was fine.

 

“There won’t be any problems,” Oswald said with a polite smile.

 

The men around the table looked at each other, then the leader sighed. “We’ll keep in touch, Penguin.”

 

Oswald had hoped that he’d get their support on the first meeting already, but it seemed he had to worker harder to gain their money. Nevertheless, he didn’t let the disappointment show on his face, but smiled and took his farewell politely.

 

On the walk to his car, he could feel Jim thrumming with tension, so he knew the car ride might be a bit uncomfortable. For the first five minutes, Jim just kept glancing at him.

 

“A campaign is very expensive, Jim. I need their money unless I want to deplete my bank account,” Oswald finally said, fingernails tapping against his cane.

 

Jim huffed. “They’re not playing.” A second later he looked at Oswald. “They openly _threatened_ you!”

 

“They just wanted to scare me,” Oswald shrugged. His right hand slid to the space between him and Jim. “Thank you for your concern, though.”

 

Jim looked at Oswald’s hand on the seat and gulped. Slowly, he let his left hand slip from his thigh until his pinkie bumped against the gangster’s hand. “Aren’t you mad that I ruined your meeting?”

 

Oswald needed a moment to recollect himself, his heart pounding from the brief touch. He didn’t know what to do; he wanted to take Jim’s hand in his, but was afraid that Jim wouldn’t like being touched. In the end, he placed his hand over Jim’s with utmost tenderness, and when there was no negative reaction, his thumb started tracing along the veins on Jim’s hand.

 

“How could I be mad? You wanted to step in… to protect me,” Oswald whispered and blushed, focusing on how soft Jim’s skin was. God, how he wanted to bring those strong hands to his lips and kiss each knuckle and each finger!

 

_You would have stood up for me against a room full of armed people_ , Oswald wanted to add, but he bit his tongue. He couldn’t let this go to his head, couldn’t ruin everything when he was so close to bringing Jim back to the good path.

 

Oswald could feel Jim relax under his touch, and looked up in time to see that he was just as flustered as Oswald felt. Unhurriedly, Jim turned his palm upwards, his fingertips stroking Oswald’s palm. The gangster stopped breathing for a moment, then exhaled shakily as Jim squeezed his fingers before letting his hand fall back on the seat. Oswald didn’t hesitate now to put his hand back on Jim’s. All this while, Jim looked ahead, heat spreading from his cheeks to his neck. Oswald could see a nerve in Jim’s jaw twitch when he started stroking his hand yet again.

 

To ease the charged atmosphere a bit, Oswald leaned in and asked: “Do I need to give you a second salary for being my bodyguard as well?”

 

Jim snorted and shook his head. Oswald leaned against the seat with a smile.

  
Their hands remained clasped throughout the drive.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! I can't believe this story is getting so close to the end. D: I remember the first time the idea popped into my mind, I thought this would be one of those fics that I would never get to write, just contemplate from afar and sigh whenever I remembered it. That being said, however, I might need to extend the number of chapters to 8 - I think the final scene should get its own chapter. :)

Jim sighed as the hot water hit his chest. For a minute, he was successful in his endeavour of not thinking about anything, but his mind was soon flooded by the thoughts he tried to keep at bay. Jim wasn’t sure when was the last time he’d felt so conflicted. Oswald had held his hand in the car and it was as if Jim’s whole world exploded in light and warmth, leaving him to wonder how he’d ever been able to survive without it.

 

If Jim were to be completely honest, this had not been the first time it happened, but it was never this intense. He had no idea he was capable of such strong feelings ‒ he felt like a volcano that had been dormant for hundreds of years had just erupted inside of him. Jim let his head fall back against the cool tiles as he relived the gentle touches of Oswald’s fingers, tremors travelling through his body. His stomach was invaded by thousands of butterflies, and he hid his face in the crook of his arm, biting his lip so he wouldn’t scream.

 

He knew these feelings, oh, he knew them well. But they couldn’t be real, could they? Despite Oswald’s admittedly extraordinary efforts to steer Gotham onto a better path, he was still not a good man. And yet, he’d been nothing but kind and understanding with Jim, tolerating his mood swings and rudeness like no one else ever had. Jim really did not deserve it after all he’d done to Oswald. He was not a good man. A good man would not have allowed someone else to take the fall for him, or leave that person in an asylum to be tortured. Oswald deserved so much better than a broken ex-cop.

 

Even hours later, despite his resolution that he’d stop thinking about the gangster, Jim’s mind was fixated on Oswald and his elegant fingers, how soft and warm they felt as they stroked Jim’s hand. He sighed as he lied on his bed staring at the ceiling. Jim couldn’t believe he was obsessing over such a small gesture like an inexperienced teenager. Was he really so touch deprived? Was he really craving affection so badly that he would gladly take it from a criminal? He must be.

 

Jim ignored the voice which whispered that the thought of holding anyone else’s hand ‒ including Lee’s ‒ did nothing to him.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, when Jim went downstairs for breakfast, the breath was knocked out of his lungs. Lately, his heart started beating faster whenever he saw the gangster, but this time it was almost overwhelming. Oswald sat at the table, deep in thought, the golden light of morning giving him a soft glow, as if he was ethereal. Jim was paralysed by his beauty for a second, feeling guilty about staring since it was as if he had walked in on something sacred that his unworthy, mortal eyes were not supposed to see. As Jim got closer, he saw that the gangster looked troubled.

 

“Is something wrong, Oswald?”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“What’s the matter? You seem nervous,” Jim clarified as he sat down, glancing at the abandoned piece of toast on Oswald’s plate.

 

“Oh,” Oswald said, tapping his fingers on the table. “Gabe brought me some news just before you came downstairs. Apparently someone saw Fish at an abandoned warehouse.”

 

“I see,” was all Jim could say. He was careful; he knew Oswald’s whole hunting Arkham escapees mission was built on the hope that he’d find Fish one day.

 

“She’s gone by now, of course, but I guess it should be checked out,” Oswald mumbled as he fiddled with his napkin on the table.

 

Jim gulped automatically as he watched Oswald’s hand, the insurmountable desire to hold it again gushing forth so suddenly, he could barely stop himself from reaching out and doing it just to clench his thirst. God, he needed to distance himself from Oswald; he could not trust his treacherous heart.

 

“If you want, I can do that,” he offered.

 

“Oh, you would?” Oswald looked up in earnest. “I have to go to a meeting, and I cannot check it myself. You’d do me a great favour.”

 

“I thought we were done with the favours,” Jim said in an amused tone.

 

“It’s just a figure of speech,” Oswald replied, distracted. He really seemed bothered by the news. “I have to go now. Take care, and in case she’s there, don’t let Fish touch you under any circumstances!”

 

“I won’t,” Jim promised.

 

After breakfast, Jim took his gun and left to check the warehouse Oswald had indicated. It seemed to have been the quarters of an illegal drug lab, various containers and equipment strewn across the place. Jim had a look around, but didn’t know if any of this was helpful or not. Just as he was considering leaving, he heard a scuttling noise coming from the far corner of the room, and he raised his gun.

 

“Who’s there? Show yourself,” Jim yelled.

 

The noise stopped, then suddenly a small figure emerged, ready to escape, but Jim was faster and tackled it to the ground. As he sat up, Jim noticed that it was just a young boy who couldn’t be older than sixteen.

 

“I didn’t do anything, I swear!” He shouted, his hazel eyes wide with panic.

 

“Alright, calm down. That’s not what I wanted to ask. How long have you been hiding there?” Jim asked.

 

“I don’t know, three hours? I was just getting some stuff that I could sell when this gang came in. Most people just ran away.”

 

“What gang?” Jim asked, hoping that the boy could serve with more information.

 

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen them. Their leader was this lady with black and red hair. She was wearing strange clothes and even a cape.”

 

Bingo. The kid must have seen Fish Mooney. “Do you know what she wanted? How many were there with her?”

 

“There were three others, neither of them armed. I don’t know, they were just super weird. Like one of the girls who was with her could just materialise wherever she wanted. So I thought to myself there was no way I’d come out from my hiding place. I couldn’t see much from there, but I think the leader caught one of the lab guys and asked for some medicine. He gave her a bottle, then she asked for all of them, but he only had that one.”

 

Jim nodded. “Okay, thanks. Do you remember what the name of the medicine was?”

 

The kid shook his head. “Something with B. Sorry, can’t remember.”

 

“It’s okay.” Jim told the boy he could go, but before he left Jim called him back and gave him some money. “Go and get some warm food for yourself. Stay out of trouble, okay?”

 

“Thanks,” the kid stared at him with wide eyes then disappeared.

 

Jim looked around and picked up all the bottles with names starting with B, hoping that one of them was the medicine Fish needed. Maybe it would help Oswald with his search. Jim might have wanted to distance himself from the gangster in his personal relationship, but he was still Oswald’s employee. Deep down, though, he just wanted to help Oswald and repay his kindness.

 

* * *

 

Fish’s return had stirred up a lot of feelings in Oswald. Ignoring most of them, he focused on revenge, hoping that once he caught her, she’d stay dead forever this time. He knew the resurrection had given her some kind of power, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

 

Jim’s call had given him hope, though. If Fish was looking for some kind of medicine, it meant that she was sick or losing her powers. Maybe she would even die if left alone, her body unable to cope with her new abilities. Of course, Oswald couldn’t leave her up to faith. She’d just come back to haunt him again and again.

 

Later in the afternoon, after Oswald entrusted someone with the analysis of the evidence Jim had found in the warehouse, he entered the living room confidently.

 

“You seem in a better mood,” Jim told him as he looked up, and Oswald beamed.

 

“I am. If we find out what Fish is looking for, we could anticipate where she’s going to show up next time, and then we could catch her.”

 

“That’s true, I suppose.”

 

“Come, Jim, I asked Olga to set the table outside for some dessert.”

 

Oswald led Jim to the back of the house where he had a wooden table and benches under some cherry trees which had just recently started blooming. The table was laden with fruits, cakes and a pitcher of cold lemonade. Jim looked rather impressed ‒ Oswald too had to admit that the place looked rather idyllic. The weather was unusually sunny, so they had to make use of it.

 

In fact, it was so warm that Jim took off his black leather jacket. Oswald couldn’t help stare a little at his defined arms, then he remembered his duties as a host. “Would you like some lemonade?”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

They spent a nice time talking about Oswald’s meeting and upcoming events, Mayor James’s butched interview the other day where he avoided every question related to future plans, and instead just angrily shouted nonsense and how the system was corrupt for allowing such people as Penguin to become candidates. Oswald was glad that Jim seemed annoyed by Aubrey James’s incompetence, but he knew that Jim was still not convinced that Oswald would be the right mayor for Gotham. Oswald didn’t let those thoughts bother him, however. The day was too beautiful and his wish of spending more time with Jim was finally granted.

 

“Would you mind if I brought my book outside?” Jim asked.

 

“No, of course not. Go ahead,” Oswald replied, glad that his guest had found such a worthwhile hobby.

 

Jim returned with an old-looking book, but he seemed disgruntled.

 

“Is something wrong?”

 

“Well, I thought it would have dried by now. You know, it got a bit wet when the pipes burst in my apartment. I wouldn’t have cared that much, but this book used to belong to my father,” Jim said and leafed through it carefully, inspecting the wavy pages.

 

“Oh god.” Oswald gripped the table’s corner as he stood up, his face paling instantly. “It belonged to your father?”

 

“Yes, see, he even wrote his name inside.”

 

Jim showed the title page to Oswald who was trying very hard not to die of shame and guilt on the spot. “We, we can f-fix this. I-I know a good method with which we can unmake the damage,” he stuttered and called for Olga who brought him some paper towels.

 

“We need to put paper towels between each page, so they absorb any leftover wetness,” Oswald said, aware that his voice quivered and was more high-pitched than usual.

 

He tore pieces of paper from the roll, hating how badly his hands shook. How could he have been so foolish?! If Jim ever found out that he’d provoked the flood in his apartment, he’d never forgive Oswald, not after he ruined one of the few things Jim had of his father. Suddenly, there was a warm touch on his right wrist, Jim’s fingers encircling it gently.

 

“It’s alright, Oswald. Only the bottom part was affected, it’s no big deal.”

 

Jim was staring at him intently, his eyes bluer than the spring sky. Oswald let him take the roll from his hands and watched as Jim put paper towels between the pages. The book even had lovely, colourful illustrations and one of them, of a boy and his rose and a fox on a lonely planet made Oswald realise which book it was.

 

“ _It is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye_.”

 

“Sorry?” Jim looked up, surprised.

 

“It’s a quote from your book. It’s _The Little Prince_ , right?”

 

“It is. You’ve read it?”

 

Oswald nodded. “Yes, a very long time ago. It’s a lovely novel, and I really liked that quote, so I memorised it.”

 

Jim was looking at him again as if he wanted to read his mind, his gaze so penetrating that Oswald’s nervousness flared up. “I, uh, I have to go make some phone calls. When you’re done, just put some heavy books from the library on top of yours. It will help straighten the pages.”

 

“Alright.”

 

Oswald was walking towards the house, shaking his head at how stupid he had been.

 

“Hey, Oswald?” Jim called after him and Oswald turned instantly.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Thank you.”

 

He nodded and continued his walk, unaware of Jim’s eyes following him.

 

* * *

 

Jim had hoped that Oswald would join him back in the garden, but after a while it was clear that his host had disappeared. Jim tried very hard not to be disappointed, but he failed. It was Olga who made him realise just how much time had passed ‒ she came to gather the plates just as the sun was setting.

 

“Let me help you with these, Olga,” Jim said, taking some of the cake platters.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Gordon.”

 

“It’s alright. And I told you, you can call me Jim.”

 

Olga opened the door for Jim whose hands were full. “Okay, Mr. Jim.”

 

Jim just shook his head. He wasn’t sure if he should bother the maid with his silly question, but his curiosity won. “Did Oswald tell you whether he was busy tonight?”

 

“No. You mustn’t be upset with Mr. Cobblepot, he has periods when he needs to be alone,” Olga said and started washing the dishes.

 

“I’m not upset with him, but I think he might be with me,” Jim mumbled, leaning against the counter.

 

Olga stopped and turned to Jim, frowning. “With you? No. He likes you. He likes you very much.”

 

Jim started blushing, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not so sure about that. I haven’t been a great friend to him.”

 

“You are, you are. Mr. Cobblepot is happy when you are around,” Olga said easily, and smiled when she noticed that Jim started drying the dishes. “You’re not like that bad friend he has. Edward. You know him?”

 

“I do,” Jim grunted. He heard a while ago that Ed had got out of Arkham, but didn’t know that he and Oswald were on such good terms still.

 

“He was terrible, he made Mr. Cobblepot very sad,” Olga whispered conspiratorially. “I was happy to see him go. But you, you will stay with him, right? You must.”

 

“I… I would like to, but I don’t want to be a burden.”

 

Olga smiled knowingly. “You’re no burden. He needs you. You need him.”

 

Jim ducked his head, blushing. He helped Olga put away the dishes, then had dinner alone.

 

* * *

 

Without any options left, Jim retreated to his room, trying to keep his mind busy. He turned on the TV and watched a movie until ten, but after that nothing really held his attention. He couldn’t stop thinking about Oswald, how one moment they were laughing together in the afternoon, and the next Oswald just left him alone. Jim tried to remember whether he said something offensive ‒ he couldn’t remember, but there must have been something.

 

He instinctively wanted to reach out for a bottle on the nightstand, but Jim realised what he was about to do in time to stop his movement midair. He buried his face in the pillow, breathing erratically. He needed something to calm him, to take away his worries, but all he could think about were ever darker thoughts, how he screwed up his life and how he made even the last person who used to care about him hate him in the end.

 

This was Jim Gordon’s course: he managed to alienate everyone in his life, build walls around him so high no one could or even want to break them down. Jim had thought there was only a dark glass between him and Oswald, a thin, yet cold layer that could easily be broken.  He had also been convinced at first that it was Oswald who put it between them, but it had been Jim all along. He pulled up this barrier between them from the beginning, and Oswald had been tiptoeing around Jim, trying to break it, to find a crack, but at the same time afraid not to hurt his friend in the process.

 

Jim had been rubbing his palms against the mattress, but the feeling of suffocation had not subsided one bit. He got up from the bed and paced around the room, then went to the bathroom and washed his face with cold water. He couldn’t look at his reflection, because he knew he’d see the savage hunger in his eyes. Even though he could not face it, he felt it inside of him. God, just one sip, he just needed one sip.

 

When he peeked outside, the corridor was quiet and dark. Jim wasn’t sure if Oswald was in his room, but there was no light visible under his door. Jim sneaked downstairs and went directly to the cabinets in the living room. Oswald had to have some kind of drink in there. He probably saw people there, business partners, so that meant that they probably drank something strong.

 

In that moment, Jim couldn’t think. His mind was abuzz with hurtful thoughts that he needed to put to silence. He opened door after door, cursing every time when he couldn’t find anything or when the crystal decanter turned out to be empty. He was just about to go and check the pantry when there was a soft rustling sound coming from the door.

 

“I’m afraid you won’t find any of what you’re looking for. I threw everything out a long time ago,” Oswald said as he limped to Jim. “I was working on a speech in my office when I heard some noise.”

 

Jim was so mortified, he couldn’t say a word. He just stood there, growing pale and then blushing, waiting for his host to finally kick him out of the house. Instead, Oswald just tugged at his shirt sleeve and led him to the kitchen where he put a kettle on.

 

“Jim, have I ever told you about the time I had a dog for an afternoon?” Oswald had barely glanced at Jim who was shaking his head with wide eyes before he started narrating a story from his childhood.

 

Jim watched Oswald as he placed two mugs on the table while he told Jim about a puppy he found hiding behind his school. “I took him home, fed him, bathed him. I was already composing my arguments for when my mother would return from work.

 

“Sadly, she came home from work in a really bad mood, so she told me to get rid of it. The landlord didn’t let us keep any pets, so she was afraid he’d throw us out. Did you have any pets, Jim?”

 

“We had a few dogs when I was a kid, and my mom got some fish after dad died. She had beautiful aquariums with bettas and goldfish.”

 

“Oh, I would have also liked to have fish, but of course, the no house pets policy extended to them too,” Oswald said as he poured the hot water over their teabags.

 

“You could get some now.  Dogs too, if you wanted,” Jim added quietly, fearing that the conversation would soon turn to his shameful action.

 

“Hmm, you’re right. I’m sure my father wouldn’t have minded,” Oswald said with a sad smile. “He was a very good man. I think you would have liked him.”

 

“This house was his, right?” Jim asked hesitantly, not sure if the topic was too sensitive or not.

 

“Indeed. It was a bit daunting when he brought me here for the first time, but I found that everything bore his imprint, so I grew accustomed to it. We didn’t get to spend too much time together, so it feels like the house is keeping his memory alive.”

 

Jim understood this very well; this was the reason why he was so attached to the few objects he still had from his dad. As they were sipping their tea, Oswald told Jim about how he met his father, the stories Elijah had shared about his family and Gertrude, and other anecdotes from his life. Jim was so absorbed that he hadn’t even noticed that they had been sitting and talking for over two hours.

 

“It’s getting late, we should go to bed,” Oswald said and placed the teacups in the sink.

 

Jim was getting worried again, expecting Oswald to bring up his shameful deed, but as they were climbing the stairs, the gangster was talking about one of his ancestors who had run away to Paris with her suitor. Jim knew in that moment that Oswald would not say anything, that he would pretend that nothing happened if Jim never brought it up.

 

As they reached the top of the stairs, Jim stopped and turned towards Oswald, his hand grazing Oswald’s forearm hesitantly.

 

“Jim?”

 

“Why… why are you so nice to me?” Jim whispered, letting his hand glide down on the sleeve of Oswald’s silk robe, his index finger hooking around Oswald’s. “I don’t deserve it. I’ve been nothing but unfair to you, betraying your trust. You’d be better off with someone else.”

 

“Oh, Jim,” Oswald breathed, his gaze open as he reached out and cupped Jim’s face. “You know why.”

 

The bounty hunter inhaled sharply, tremors moving through his body. He put his hand over Oswald’s, then turned his head and kissed Oswald’s palm.

 

“Even if I could, I would _never_ replace you with anyone else,” Oswald whispered with burning gaze, and Jim closed his eyes so that his tears wouldn’t spill.

 

Oswald stepped closer and pressed his lips against Jim’s stubbly cheek, the gentle kiss more devastating than anything Jim had ever experienced.

 

“Good night, Jim.”

  
“Good night, Oswald.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I AM SO, SO SORRY about this late update... uni, illness and a huge fear of writing fight scenes blocked my inspiration. I hope this came out decent, though, I tried my best.
> 
> Shotout to Nekomata58919 for the quick beta and to skeleton_twins whose patience and encouragement are invaluable. :)
> 
> As predicted, the number of chapters had to be extended for the smut. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I hope it won't take me that long to update.

****Jim still felt awkward about Oswald having caught him in such a low moment, basically snooping in his host’s house for alcohol. However, Oswald made no reference to it and so Jim let it slide too, promising himself that he would get back on the good path. He started with going for a jog every morning and trying to eat healthier.

 

A couple of days after Jim had examined the warehouse, Oswald received the results of the evidence Jim had collected. His man had figured out that Fish Mooney had most probably been looking for Brimosonide, a strong medicine that could prevent her body from degrading even more. Luckily for them, the medicine was rather rare and expensive, therefore they could easily track down the locations that had it.

 

Oswald and Jim were looking through the list again, wondering which lab or pharmacy was next on the list when Oswald’s phone rang. Although Jim couldn’t hear what the person on the other line was saying, he knew it must have been some kind of good news, for Oswald’s eyes lit up with that slightly maniacal sparkle.

 

“We got her,” Oswald said as he finished the conversation. “Word on the street is that Fish and her gang are going to strike at the Gotham City College’s research lab tonight.”

 

“Great, if we can get the layout of the building, then we can come up with a plan on how to stop her,” Jim stated, tapping his pen against the desk. “How many men can you spare so I take them with me?”

 

“Enough, don’t worry about that. But I’m coming with you,” Oswald said with determination.

 

“What? No way. The election is in two days!” Jim exclaimed, his hand sliding onto Oswald’s knee and squeezing it gently.

 

“I won’t let you go alone, Fish has some weird superpowers. Besides, I want to be there when she’s caught. She has to pay for everything she’s done.”

 

“Oswald… it could be dangerous. You shouldn’t risk anything,” Jim tried again, but he forgot everything when Oswald put his hand on his, his slender fingers sliding perfectly between Jim’s.

 

“It will be fine. We can do this,” Oswald whispered, smiling at Jim shyly. “Together.”

 

“Together,” Jim repeated, pressing a quick kiss to the gangster’s temple.

 

* * *

 

 

As they were preparing for the ambush, Jim started having an uneasy feeling in his stomach and he wasn’t sure why. With Oswald’s resources, they were more than prepared, in terms of weapons as well as human resources. And yet he couldn’t shake off this ominous feeling that they shouldn’t go out there.

 

However, Oswald was determined and nothing could stop him, even though Jim could see that his hand was shaking as he checked that his gun was loaded. But the former detective didn’t have it in him to tell Oswald to change his plans – in the evenings, after dinner, they would often talk for hours. On one such occasion, Oswald hinted at all the pain Fish had inflicted on him, and Jim found himself clenching his fists so tightly, his nails left a mark on his palms. He would help Oswald through this, like Oswald had been there for Jim in his most difficult moments.

 

“We’ll kick her ass,” Jim said with a smile, his breath taken away when Oswald finally looked up and smiled back at him gratefully.

 

* * *

 

 

The mission had several challenges, and one of them was how many men to take so that they wouldn’t be too conspicuous. In the end, Jim and Oswald decided for six, who were hidden close to the various entrances, so they could let Jim and Oswald know when Fish entered the building. Jim and Oswald were in the main lab where the medicine was stored. Oswald somehow managed to obtain permission from the head of the lab to stay there during the night. Jim suspected there was a bribe involved, as well as a promise to pay for everything that would be destroyed.

 

Jim and Oswald quickly assessed the lab, checking for hiding places and exits. The cabinet with the medicine was securely locked with a code they didn’t know. Jim hoped Fish’s skills didn’t include guessing codes right, or they were doomed. They had been waiting for almost an hour when Oswald’s walkie-talkie crackled with static. Oswald, who had been examining the tubes and beakers on the counter with great interest, looked up sharply at Jim.

 

“All teams, report,” Jim said into his walkie-talkie, waiting for an answer.

 

There was more static, then some indistinguishable voices. “Boss? Boss! She’s here, she brought three-”

 

But then the transceiver died again and they couldn’t get hold of either sentinel. Jim went to the guards at the door to inform them of Fish’s arrival, but the two men were already lying on the floor, unresponsive.

 

“Oswald,” Jim whispered, pointing at the unconscious guards.

 

“Goddammit.”

 

Jim saw a movement from the corner of his eye and pointed his gun in that direction, but then suddenly the electricity went out. He was trying to get behind a counter where it would be relatively safe until the generators kicked in.

 

“Oswald?” he tried, but there was no reply.

 

There was a rattling sound coming from the other side of the room and then glass breaking. Jim scrambled to stand up and blindly tried to get to where Oswald was no doubt fighting someone when the lights came back. He was about to rush to Oswald’s aid when someone jumped on his back. Jim grunted and saw in a mirror that it was a young man with short, ginger hair who was trying to suffocate him. Jim slammed him against a shelf, knocking off various samples and vials.

 

The young man was quicker than Jim expected, getting up in no time. Jim tried to punch him, but every time he tried the man would simply jump out of his way, anticipating Jim’s moves. Jim was getting angrier with each second; he glanced at Oswald who was now fighting with his cane.

 

“Oswald, you okay?”

 

“Yes,” Oswald grunted, wielding his cane quite skillfully. “Just need to tire this beast first. You?”

 

“Getting there,” Jim shouted back, finally managing to surprise his opponent and punched him so hard that the young man fell down unconscious without any resistance whatsoever.

 

Jim spotted the crowbar he’d brought with him, but just as he was about to pick it up, an immense shock ran through his body and he was slammed against a cabinet. Dazed, he looked up in time to see a woman smirking above him, her silver hair shining under the white lights of the lab. Jim wasn’t sure whether he was hallucinating or not, but he thought he could see a blue flash between her fingers.

 

Mustering his strength, Jim got on his feet and punched Fish’s minion who staggered back. He got in another punch, but the woman put her hand on Jim’s chest, her touch incredibly hot. The shock from before returned tenfold, making Jim fly across the room. The bounty hunter hit his head into a table hard, everything going black for a few seconds.

 

“ _Jim, Jim_!”

 

He could vaguely register Oswald’s worried screams, Jim turning on the floor and watching in a haze as Oswald took off the top of his cane and stabbed the man he was fighting with. Jim wanted to warn him about the silver-haired woman who was advancing on him, but he couldn’t move or talk. Jim’s entire concentration was on their fight, hoping that Oswald would knock the woman out .

 

That was why Jim didn’t hear the careful steps approaching him. He flinched when Fish’s differing eyes stared down at him.

 

“See, detective, this is where that danger in your eye got you.”

 

Jim whimpered when she touched his forehead.

 

“Get up on your knees,” she said calmly, and even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, Jim did as he was told. He could not do anything against it – it was like Fish had brainwashed him.

 

“Now give me your gun.”

 

Jim gave it to her, watching as Oswald finally looked his way after shooting the silver-haired woman.

 

“ _No_!”

 

“Hello, Oswald,” Fish greeted him with a smug smile.

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald’s hand was shaking violently as he pointed the gun at Fish Mooney, her grip tightening around Jim’s neck who was kneeling on the floor full of glass, still twitching from time to time from the electric shocks he’d received. Fish had Jim’s gun in her right hand, pointing it at Oswald casually, as if it was just one of her many options. She clearly thought she was in the superior position.

 

Jim was bleeding from a wound at the side of his head; the collar of his light blue shirt blooming red in the harsh, white light. Oswald’s chest constricted painfully – this was literally the nightmare he’d been dreading for the past weeks, that he would get Jim into a life threatening situation.

 

His pain acerbated when Jim looked at him, his blue eyes holding nothing but acceptance, even though he must have been in pain. Jim tried to reassure Oswald that he was fine, even encouraging him to try and carry out their original mission. Oswald’s eyes were burning as he finally tore his gaze away from his friend and looked at Fish, who smirked at the silent conversation between the two men.

 

“Well, well, well… I see the rumours are true. Found a pity case, Oswald? An alcoholic detective fallen from grace? How noble of you.”

 

“Release him. Immediately,” Oswald growled, his lips pressed into a thin line.

 

Fish tsked, shaking her head. “Something for something. You know nothing is free in life, Oswald.”

 

She sank her blood red fingernails into Jim’s skin who hissed in surprise.

 

“I must say it hurts seeing something I created turn against me, but I suppose I taught you well,” Fish regarded Oswald with a feeling not unlike motherly pride. “So, for old times’ sake, I’ll make you a very generous offer: if you let me go, you’ll get your precious detective back, unharmed. Try to shoot me and I’ll make him kill you. Believe me, he won’t stop until he’s finished. Then he’ll have to live with the feeling. Or well, maybe he won’t be able to live with it.”

 

Oswald’s eyes widened, his hands shaking even more. He wanted to shout with rage and just lash out and destroy everything in his way, but he needed to calm down or this could end very badly. He tried to clear his head and ignore the distractingly loud thumping of his heart. He couldn’t let Jim die, but to let Fish go…

 

“Shoot her, then shoot me.”

 

Jim’s voice was weak and cracked, taking both Fish and Oswald off guard.

 

In that moment, Oswald suddenly knew what to do.

 

* * *

 

 

Jim closed his eyes, waiting for the gunshots. He’d always known he would die a violent death, in the middle of a mission, bleeding out on the cold floor alone. Now, he trusted Oswald to at least shut his glassy eyes when he gave his last breath; and maybe if he was lucky, Oswald would even hold him for his last seconds.

 

Because Jim saw the epiphany in Oswald’s beautiful eyes and there was no way he would not go for the option that guaranteed Fish’s death. She was slippery; she’d escaped his clutches so many times that he should definitely not let her go.

 

However, instead of the piercing sounds he expected, there was only a blunt one and whooshing sound as Oswald kicked away the gun he was holding.

 

“Now get out of my sight!” Oswald snarled at Fish who took her leave quickly.

 

Jim faintly registered as Oswald hurried to him and dropped to his knees, uncaring about the shards of glass or the pain he must have felt in his bad leg. His hands hovered over Jim, eyes filled to the brim with worry and tears. “I’m so sorry, Jim, are you alright? Of course, you’re not, you’re bleeding, fuck, I’m so sorry…”

 

“Oswald.”

 

Jim blindly reached out for Oswald who finally opened his arms and held Jim close to himself, rubbing his back soothingly while blabbering on.

 

“God, Jim, I am so sorry, this was what I’ve feared all along, I am so sorry you got hurt, I-”

 

“Oswald,” Jim whispered, his fingers bunching up the gangster’s suit jacket, his heart almost bursting with a cavalcade of emotions.

 

The gangster had chosen him over the chance to catch his nemesis, risked his reputation as a politician and King of Gotham, as well as maybe sabotaging his chances of being elected the future mayor of Gotham. That was the moment Jim felt the dark glass between them get thinner and crack further, the whole thing splintering into hundreds of pieces. Jim whimpered into Oswald’s chest who continued to soothe him and press kisses mixed with hot tears to his hair and forehead.

 

Of course, there was still darkness in Jim, but it was not so all-encompassing anymore, just some pieces here and there. He finally managed to see Oswald’s light, reach out and break the wall between them. It was so satisfying to finally let himself be drowned in Oswald’s warmth and love, to finally believe that it was genuine and selfless, without any ulterior motive behind it. Jim squeezed Oswald as tightly as his aching body allowed it, hoping that it conveyed his gratitude in some way.

 

“Let’s go home,” Oswald announced and they somehow got up and staggered back to the car, Oswald carrying Jim without a word of complaint.

 

He ordered his men – who were just getting up – to clean the place.

 

* * *

 

 

Jim had felt much, much better after he’d bathed, some of the pain leaving his body, though his limbs still twitched from time to time. He put on a clean shirt and pajama pants. While he was in the bathroom, Olga had brought him dinner on a tray and Jim was really grateful for the hot soup which restored a bit of his life. When he was almost done, there was a knock on the door, Oswald peeking inside.

 

“May I come in?”

 

“Of course.”

 

He had also changed into a pair of silk pyjamas and put on an elegant robe. Jim couldn’t help the way his heart clenched in his chest at the sight or the smile that pulled at his lips, even though it hurt his split lower lip.

 

“I thought I should have a look at the cut on the side of your head,” Oswald said, bringing a first aid kit from the bathroom.

 

Jim didn’t think the cut was a big deal, but he craved Oswald’s proximity, so he scooted a bit over on the bed, Oswald sitting on the cover gracefully. Jim turned his head for Oswald to inspect the cut, relishing the tingling that ran through his body when the gangster caressed his face.

 

“I haven’t even thanked you for how bravely you fought today,” Oswald said softly as he opened the antiseptic, warning Jim when he dabbed at the cut.

 

The sting didn’t surprise Jim; he was hardened after years of fighting and receiving blows. A gentle, caring touch was a new thing for him, though ‒ he never had anyone to take care of him after beatings.

 

“No need to thank me. That’s my job,” Jim said slowly, mesmerised.

 

He couldn’t take his eyes off of Oswald’s face, his lovely eyes so focused on the task of bandaging his bounty hunter. Oswald had noticed Jim’s stare, though, for his cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. Even his fingers started shaking, which Jim found slightly amusing. Oswald had practically confessed his feelings the other night, and yet Jim still found it fascinating that he could have that kind of effect on the gangster.

 

“There, you’re all patched up now. You should also take this pill for the pain,” Oswald said and cleared his throat.

 

“Thanks.”

 

After making sure that Jim took the pill, Oswald was about to get up and leave Jim to rest, but Jim caught his wrist and tugged him closer, their noses almost bumping against each other.

 

“I know you made a huge sacrifice for me. Thank you. No one’s ever…” Jim whispered, his voice chocking.

 

Not knowing what else to say, he cupped Oswald’s face then, staring at his lips. Jim wasn’t sure if he was the one to lean in or if Oswald closed the distance, but finally, his lips were pressed against Oswald’s, enjoying their sweetness and softness. Jim pecked the corner of Oswald’s mouth, then brushed his lips along the gangster’s jaw, only to end it with a whispered ‘thank you’ in Oswald’s ear.

 

The gangster shivered under Jim’s tender touches, fingers settling at the back of his neck, petting Jim’s silky hair. Jim whimpered as Oswald set a bit of distances between them, looking at Jim with utmost fondness.

 

“Listen to me, Jim. I will always choose you. No matter what.”

 

He then kissed Jim’s forehead and got up, Jim looking at him with wide eyes, heart ready to jump out of his chest, it was beating so madly.

 

“What about Fish? You just let her escape?”

 

“Well, what about her? We’ll get her next time,” Oswald said with a confident smile which made Jim sigh with relief.

 

“Good night, Jim. You need to rest.”

 

“Night, Oswald.”

 

Jim fell asleep with the sensation of Oswald’s soft lips kissing his.

 

* * *

 

 

Jim was very grateful that he could sleep in the next day. His whole body protested when he got out of bed, though. He went downstairs, excited and nervous to see Oswald, but instead of the gangster waiting for him with a beautiful smile, there was just a note on the table.

 

_I have a full day of interviews and other election-related errands to run today. I hope you feel better, but if not, I left some pills on the counter! Will probably get home late._

 

With a sigh, Jim sat down and had a very late breakfast alone, catching himself looking at Oswald’s chair more than once. It was quite incredible how he could not imagine his life without the gangster. Jim took his phone from his pocket and sent a quick message to Oswald.

 

_Good luck with everything!_

 

Twenty seconds later, he received a response.

 

_Thank you, I need it. Absolute madhouse here. Next interview starts in 5, so nervous._

 

Jim quickly typed a reply.

 

_You’ll be great. Keeping my fingers crossed for you._

 

Jim had always thought Oswald was confident, but during the weeks he’d spent with Oswald he realised that the gangster was quite worried about his campaign, despite his numbers in the polls and his ever increasing popularity. Jim thought Oswald’s anxiety would only escalate the next day, so he was determined to be by his side the entire day. Maybe he could even do something special for Oswald…

 

An idea started forming in Jim’s head and he let it develop while he sipped his coffee. He was going to return to his old apartment to retrieve something. Jim had his suspicions that he was probably never going to return to live there… he would have been outraged by that thought just some weeks ago, but his time with Oswald had been eye-opening.

 

Despite the ache in his whole body, Jim left the manor in a good mood, humming to himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald made it home after nine in the evening, weary and just ready to eat the whole fridge. The sight of Jim reading in an armchair made him smile and breaking his own house rules, he didn’t have dinner by the table, but with Jim on the couch. He enjoyed the way their shoulders touched. Even though they kissed the previous night, Oswald wasn’t sure if Jim wanted to continue with that, and he was not going to force anything. It was Jim’s decision.

 

He was so deep in his thoughts that Jim had to shake him a bit to get his attention.

 

“You should go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

 

“You’re right,” Oswald said and admired Jim’s face in the soft light.

 

He got up, but noticed that Jim didn’t move. Oswald stood by the sofa and lightly put his hand on Jim’s shoulder.

 

“You’re not coming?”

 

Jim looked up at him with a smile and placed his hand on Oswald’s, squeezing it. “Not yet. I wanted to look over some things for tomorrow, to make sure everything runs smoothly.”

 

“Oh, thank you. Don’t stay up too late.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jim didn’t need to set an alarm - there had been a kind of buzz floating in the air in the past few days, the excitement crawling under his skin. He took his time shaving and then dressed in his usual all-black outfit. Oswald had been awake as well for at least half an hour: Jim had heard him talk – or rather yell – on the phone. As predicted, he was already stressed. Jim thought it was time to have his discussion with Oswald. He took the box he hid under his bed and left his room.

 

Jim stood outside of Oswald’s room. There were all kinds of sounds, from drawers being shut to curses. Jim knocked on the door.

 

“Come in.”

 

In all the weeks he’d lived in Oswald’s manor, Jim had never set foot in the owner’s bedroom. Like the other rooms, it spoke of luxury, but not in an opulent way. Currently, it was rather untidy, as Oswald was desperately searching for something in the drawers of his dresser. He was wearing only trousers and a white shirt which was not buttoned up all the way. Jim realised he’d never seen Oswald in such a state of undress before and he shamelessly stared at his neck.

 

“Did you lose something?”

 

“I can’t find my cufflinks. The onyx and pearl ones,” Oswald muttered, then sat down and buried his face in his hands. “Damn it, I am such a mess.”

 

Jim spotted the ‘missing’ cufflinks on Oswald’s nightstand. He took them with an amused smile and placed them in front of Oswald on the dresser.

 

“Thank you, I swear I checked that nightstand five times,” Oswald sighed as he put them on.

 

He got up and was about to continue his dressing ceremony when Jim stopped him with a hand on his elbow. “Let me help.”

 

“Oh… okay.”

 

“If you don’t mind, I brought a tie for you.” Jim bit his lip, opening the small box and revealing a purple and gold brocade tie. “It used to belong to my father. It’s not really my style, but I thought it would suit you.”

 

“Oh, Jim, this is… wonderful. Your father had good taste. Thank you.”

 

Jim turned up Oswald’s collar, smiling at the way the gangster was looking at him, with eyes full of wonder. He put the tie around Oswald’s neck, trying to encourage him while making a Windsor knot.

 

“I know it’s a very stressful day, but I can assure you that everything will go well. You’ve been working so hard for the past weeks. There’s nothing much you can do today, just vote and wait for the results, maybe do some interviews.”

 

“You’re right, I should calm down.”

 

Jim smiled as he tightened the knot and arranged Oswald’s collar.

 

“I’m always right.”

 

“Not so fast, Mr. Gordon,” Oswald said playfully, but took the vest Jim offered him. “You’ve been wrong about a lot of things.”

 

“Like about us not being friends,” Jim said quietly, holding up Oswald’s suit jacket. After Oswald put it on, Jim smoothed his hands down Oswald’s shoulders, briefly kissing his cheek.

 

Oswald turned back towards him, blushing. “Well, I had hoped, but I didn’t want to assume.”

 

Jim stepped closer, putting his hands on Oswald’s shoulders, and looked deeply into Oswald’s eyes. They both blushed; then Jim leaned in and pecked Oswald’s lips.

 

“You’ll be great, I know it,” Jim whispered, his thumbs caressing Oswald’s sensitive skin above his collar.

 

“What if I fail, though? There’s a fifty percent possibility that I’ll lose the elections.”

 

Jim replied with the greatest seriousness: “I know you can do it. If you managed to provoke a flooding and week-long power outage in a man’s flat, then you can win this too.”

 

Oswald gripped Jim’s shirt tightly, panic flashing in his eyes. “You knew?”

 

“I figured it out after a while,” Jim smirked.

 

“And… you don’t hate me for it?” Oswald asked quietly, looking up at Jim through his eyelashes.

 

“Well, I don’t approve of your methods, but I know why you did it. So thank you.”

 

Jim barely had time to register Oswald yanking him closer by his shirt before he felt the gangster’s lips on his, a shiver running down his spine at Oswald’s pleased moan. He opened his lips and let Oswald’s warm tongue slowly explore his mouth, tracing over his own tongue teasingly. Jim leaned in for more, craving Oswald’s warmth. He slid his hands under Oswald’s suit jacket, rubbing his back, Oswald gripping Jim’s hips possessively. The bounty hunter suddenly realised that they had an important day ahead, so his lips slid to Oswald’s cheek.

 

“We should probably stop. I don’t want to crease Mayor Cobblepot’s perfect suit,” Jim whispered against Oswald’s flushed skin, kissing it affectionately.

 

“Shush, don’t call me that just yet, don’t want you to jinx it,” Oswald admonished, but his eyes sparkled with satisfaction. “Alright, let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”

 

Jim smiled and followed Oswald out of the room, pleased that he managed to distract Oswald from stressing too much. He hoped his other surprise would be just as well-received.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, people. The last chapter, so so sorry about the long delay. Just a warning, it's 95% smut. I really hope you'll like it since I feel very insecure whenever it comes to writing such things. xD
> 
> Many thanks to Nekomata58919 for the beta!!! 
> 
> Dear E, I hope you like it!!! This story wouldn't have existed without you. :) Thank you for all your encouragement and support!

Although Oswald was worried that the elections would go slowly and he would die of nervousness, everything passed in a rush. Interviews, meeting with his campaign manager, talking to his constituents, listening to their advice and complaints. He was on his best behaviour since the sharp-eyed reporters were watching him. Then suddenly, it was time for the announcement of the results and before retreating into a corner, Jim held his hand, promising that everything would be alright.

 

He was right, of course.

 

Oswald won by a landslide.

 

In the middle of the erupting madness, Oswald managed to catch Jim’s eyes, the bounty hunter applauding and watching him with a dazzling smile. Oswald smiled back, following Jim with his eyes as much as he could, even when the crowd swept him to the main hall where the reporters were waiting.

 

There were many microphones pointed at Oswald and he tried to focus on the myriad of questions posited to him. Yes, he was very happy about the win and he was looking forward to all the challenges it would bring, as well as to accomplish his promises to the people of Gotham and make the city one that they would be proud of.

 

“Mr. Cobblepot, you won with 66%. How are you going to celebrate this victory?” a young reporter asked, her big green eyes peering at him curiously.

 

Oswald smiled and inadvertently looked above the crowd at the other room where he had last seen Jim. However, the man wasn’t there. Oswald’s smile faltered for a second, but he didn’t let bother him. Jim could have just gone to check something.

 

“I didn’t have any grandiose plans, to be honest. It’s been a long day, so it will just be a quiet celebration with some close friends.”

 

He could already see it: Gabe, Olga, Jim and himself gathered around the kitchen table, clinking their glasses and laughing. Maybe later Jim and he would retreat to the living room and talk about their future.

 

He swept away the fantasy for now, and answered some other, more political questions. If some shrewd reporters thought that he could be flummoxed, then they were in for a huge disappointment. Oswald had mastered the art of discourse and he and his campaign manager had gone over all the possible questions he could be asked.

 

With a polite smile, Oswald thanked the reporters and quickly went back to the place where he and Jim had been waiting for the results. There were only a few people milling around, so Oswald quickly realised that Jim had, indeed, disappeared. 

 

Suddenly, all the exhaustion from the past weeks poured down on Oswald and he bent his head under its weight. He tried to reason that Jim had been so kind and supportive in the morning, but the negative thoughts seemed to outweigh his logic. What was his victory worth if there was no one to share it with. 

 

Oswald was startled by a tap on his shoulder and he turned around with tense shoulders, ready to strike the person with his cane. 

 

“Mr. Cobblepot! I just wanted to congratulate you.”

 

It was Erica, Oswald’s campaign manager, smiling at him while pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, hands full of folders and papers.

 

“Oh, thank you. Thank you very much, for all your help,” Oswald said, squeezing her shoulder. “I’ll email you those documents you asked for.”

 

“Sure, no rush. See you at the inauguration!” The young woman was about to leave when her eyes lit up. “I almost forgot, Mr. Gordon asked me to give you this.”

 

Oswald took the small envelope Erica gave him, twirling it in his hands. “Thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome. Have a nice evening!”

 

When Erica left, Oswald retreated to a corner, hands shaking as he ripped open the envelope. The folded note simply said  _ Meet me in your office _ in Jim’s handwriting.

 

Oswald furrowed his brows, puzzled. Did Jim mean the mayoral office? What could he possibly want there? Oswald hadn’t even been in the office yet, but he knew where it was. He took the elevator to the second floor, peering curiously at the deserted corridors. He felt like an intruder and hoped that no one would see him.

 

When he finally got to the right door, his hand hovered over the handle. Was he supposed to knock? He decided to just open it and see what this was about. Oswald got inside the dark office, though he noticed instantly that someone was sitting in the mayoral seat.

 

“Lock the door,” Jim said lowly.

 

Oswald did as he was told, leaning against the door after it. The office was only illuminated by the city lights streaming in through the large windows. Jim looked very nonchalant in the pale blue lights seated in the chair, his right elbow on the armrest and his head against that palm, legs wide open. They stared at each other a few minutes before Oswald licked his lips.

 

“You look very comfortable, but I believe that is my seat.”

 

Jim’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Yes, well, I had to try it before you to see whether it was good enough for our new mayor.”

 

Oswald sent him a lopsided smile, then both of them moved until they met halfway in the office. They just stood staring at each other, Oswald’s heart beating madly as Jim put his hands on Oswald’s shoulders. He forgot to breathe when Jim smiled at him.

 

“Congratulations, Oswald. I knew you could do it,” Jim said and he leaned in, capturing Oswald’s lips in a sweet kiss.

 

Out of the hundreds of good wishes, this was the most important one to Oswald and he sighed gratefully when Jim pulled him in his arms and tucked Oswald’s head under his chin. 

 

“I’m so proud of you.”

 

Oswald’s breath hitched and butterflies fluttered in his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled Jim’s familiar scent, a mixture of leather, musk and a freshness reminiscent of cool summer evening. He wanted to commit this crucial moment to memory and cherish it forever.

 

Jim kissed along Oswald’s jaw then, whispering something sweet with each kiss.

 

“You’re so amazing.”

 

Kiss.

 

“You’re going to be the best thing for this city.”

 

Kiss.

 

“Just as you’re the best thing for me.”

 

Oswald whimpered, the words intoxicating him like nothing else, travelling through his body like electrical shocks and clouding his mind with lust. He grabbed Jim’s hips, bringing him closer, just needing to feel the man’s proximity. Jim cradled Oswald’s face in his hands, kissing him gently, very much aware of the effects of his words, judging by his cocky smile.

 

“You’re beautiful when you blush, you know that?”

 

Oswald put his arms around Jim’s neck and kissed him deeply, Jim’s hands sneaking under Oswald’s coat and vest, his touch hot even through the shirt’s material. Oswald didn’t even know what to do with his hands, grabbing Jim’s leather-clad arms. He opened his lips more, Jim taking the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, tasting and teasing him. Oswald kissed back eagerly; he couldn’t get enough of Jim, tried to convince himself that this was really happening.

 

Unexpectedly, Jim’s hand slipped lower, cupping Oswald’s ass.

 

“Jim!” Oswald exclaimed, fingers bunching in his shirt, gasping against Jim’s lips.

 

The bounty hunter shuddered, buckling against Oswald who looked up sharply when he felt that Jim was just as aroused as he was.

 

“Jim, oh god, we can’t here,” Oswald babbled, eyes blown wide.

 

“It’s alright, no one can see us,” Jim whispered, kissing and nipping Oswald’s neck, marking the man’s pale skin.

 

Oswald closed his eyes, giving in to Jim’s gentle caresses, lolling his head so that Jim could better reach his neck. He didn’t even notice the bounty hunter’s right hand leaving his buttocks until he felt a pressure on his erection.

 

“Jim, you don’t have to,” Oswald whimpered, clinging to Jim as if the man was his lifesaver.

 

Jim smiled, brushing Oswald’s hair from his forehead. He gazed at Oswald with a timid look before he looked down. “I know. But I want you. I  _ need  _ you.”

 

For the first time in weeks, Oswald breathed in with relief and let go of all his worries, let Jim take care of him. Jim kissed him with all the passion of the years they wasted with fighting, his hand insistently rubbing Oswald through the material of his suit. He slowly guided Oswald towards the mayoral seat without breaking the kiss.

 

Just before Oswald thought he couldn’t bear the teasing anymore, Jim let go of his lips and looked at him, his eyes wide in the pale light.

 

“Is this alright, Oswald?”

 

“Yes, please, don’t stop,” Oswald managed to blurt out and Jim grinned, his gaze heavy as it glided from Oswald’s lips down his body to his crotch. 

 

Oswald swallowed hard as Jim unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, gently letting them fall to his knees. Nervousness flickered on Jim’s otherwise unperturbed expression when his fingertips skirted on the waistband of Oswald’s underwear. His warm palms smoothed over the silk before he leaned in and distracted Oswald with a kiss as he eased the underwear off over Oswald’s cock, letting that piece to fall as well to Oswald’s knees.

 

“You’ll be more comfortable on the seat. Since it’s rightfully yours now,” Jim said as he gently pushed Oswald down with a smile, then got on his knees slowly, all the while keeping eye contact with Oswald.

 

Oswald could barely breathe at the sight of Jim kneeling in front of him who was just about to lower Oswald’s trousers and underwear to his ankles. Suddenly, Oswald realised that his bad leg would be exposed and he was certain the sight would disgust Jim. Panicked, he tried to stop Jim, his hands grabbing the clothes.

 

“No, Jim, it’s so ugly,” he whined, redness spreading on his cheeks.

 

Jim kissed his hand reverently, his fingers caressing Oswald’s thighs. “I'm sure it’s not. You know you can trust me, right?”

 

Oswald watched Jim with trepidation; of course, he knew that Jim would never make fun of him or hurt him, but even he had trouble looking at his leg. Jim’s gaze was reassuring, though, so Oswald finally nodded and let go of the material. Jim’s hands were warm as he massaged Oswald’s calves; he stooped to kiss once Oswald’s bad leg, then the left one and so on, until he reached his scarred knee.

 

“See, nothing to worry about,” Jim murmured as he pressed a hot kiss to the marred skin.

 

Oswald’s eyes shone with tears and he petted Jim’s soft hair. The confession was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t say it, not yet. Maybe Jim wouldn’t be ready to acknowledge it, so Oswald leaned down and they kissed until they were both breathless.

 

“Are you trying to distract me, Mr. Cobblepot?” Jim asked, glancing at Oswald’s leaking cock and licking his mouth.

 

Oswald’s cock twitched and he forgot to breath as Jim got closer. “Not at all, Mr. Gordon.”

 

Oswald watched with a bit of nervousness as Jim took him in his hand, moving it up and down. His cock wasn’t that impressive, but Jim seemed fascinated by it, looking at it with eager eyes. He smiled as Oswald moaned and Jim looked at him teasingly. “I take it you like it? It’s my first time.”

 

Oswald brushed Jim’s cheek with the back of his fingers, trying not to come at the mere sight of Jim’s hand around his dick. “You know I do, James.”

 

Jim smiled and took off his leather jacket. “Let’s see if you’ll like this.” He leaned in and sucked the head of Oswald’s cock into his mouth.

 

“Jim!” Oswald moaned, closing his eyes for a second. “You’re infuriatingly good at everything.”

 

The bounty hunter laughed before he took Oswald’s cock in his mouth again, Oswald watching with awe as Jim’s lips slid lower and lower. He was unable to keep silent and he reached out, his thumb tracing Jim’s pink lips to the corner where saliva gathered. That was the only sign of his inexperience, though Oswald wouldn’t have known or cared ‒ it was his first time too, and he was sure he wouldn’t last for long.

 

Jim bobbed his head up and down faster, Oswald raking his fingers through his blonde hair as he encouraged Jim with his breathy moans. Jim paused, then he kissed along from the tip of Oswald’s cock to the base. Oswald thought he would go mad when he felt Jim’s hot breath in such an intimate area, but then Jim’s tongue teased his balls and Oswald was afraid he would launch into the stratosphere. 

 

“Jim, oh god!”

 

“You taste so good.”

 

Jim hummed in pleasure as he sank once again and took Oswald’s dick in his mouth, sucking harder than ever. Oswald threw his head back, cursing. From the effort, Jim’s hair fell over his forehead and he let go of Oswald with a popping sound, voice husky as he asked:

 

“How do you like this, Mr. Mayor?”

 

“Fuck, Jim, oh god, don’t stop!”

 

Oswald buckled his hips; Jim using his new title did funny things to the butterflies in his stomach. He would make sure that they would use that knowledge later on. Jim put his hand to the base of Oswald cock, jerking him while he resumed his ministrations, licking and swirling his tongue in a way that made Oswald lose his mind.

 

Jim pressed his tongue against the underside of Oswald’s cock, just under the head, watching Oswald with burning eyes. Oswald gripped the arms of the chair with all his might, thrusting his cock in Jim’s hot mouth until he came. He focused on the stunning sight in front of him as his orgasms coursed through his body, making him shudder. Jim jerked him until the end, swallowing his come and licking Oswald’s cock clean.

 

Oswald got up on shaky legs, Jim remaining on his knees and watching him as Oswald put on his underwear and trousers. His fingers were shaking, he was so full of emotions, until he looked at Jim. There was nervousness lingering in his beautiful eyes and Oswald offered his hand, helping Jim up. Oswald was confused as to why Jim looked so timid suddenly; Oswald cradled his jaw as he passionately kissed Jim, hoping to convey just how much the man meant to him. He could taste himself on Jim’s tongue ‒ it was unusual at first, but he liked it.

 

Jim leaned his forehead against Oswald’s, lips almost touching as he whispered: “Was that alright?”

 

“Alright?! That was absolutely  _ perfect _ ,” Oswald replied, kissing him.

 

Oswald could feel that Jim was still hard. Even while blowing him, Jim sometimes pressed his left hand against his fly, trying to relieve the pressure. Oswald sat down in the chair, opening his legs wide and patting the space between them. The seat was more like a throne, big enough for two people. Although a bit skeptical at first, Jim sat with his back to Oswald, placing his head on Oswald’s left shoulder and leaning against his body.

 

Jim’s warmth seeped through his shirt and anchored Oswald in reality - even though they had been together for quite some time now, Oswald still had trouble believing that he wasn’t dreaming. Jim felt solid against him and when they kissed, Oswald savoured the softness of Jim’s lips while his fingers made their way to Jim’s fly.

 

“May I?” he asked with more confidence than he possessed in that moment. Oswald had never touched anyone this way and he wanted to make Jim feel just as good as Jim made him feel.

 

“Please do,” Jim growled, unzipping his trousers.

 

Oswald swallowed before he put his hand around Jim’s clothed erection. Jim made a helpless sound, already pressing against Oswald’s hand, which made Oswald a bit more confident. He noticed there was a wet patch on it where the tip of Jim’s cock touched the material, and Oswald’s index finger mapped the shape of Jim’s erection, Jim whimpering against Oswald’s lips.

 

“Don’t tease.”

 

Smiling against Jim’s temple, Oswald pushed down his boxers and he took Jim’s cock in his hand. It was beautiful and bigger than Oswald’s who touched it with a sort of reverence ‒ every part of his lover was magnificent. Jim rewarded every caress with a loud moan, Oswald’s heart fluttering with pride that he could make Jim feel such pleasure. Late at night, he’d fantasize about this, but he never imagined Jim being so vocal.

 

Precome dribbled from the tip of Jim’s cock; Oswald gathered it with his thumb and Jim’s mouth fell open as Oswald popped his thumb in his mouth, eyes fluttering shut. Jim grabbed him suddenly, tugging Oswald’s hair at the back of his head, their lips uniting in a passionate kiss. Oswald moaned into it, his hand tightening around Jim’s cock. 

 

“Faster, Oswald, please!”

 

Oswald complied with the request while he also kissed and licked Jim’s neck.

 

“You look stunning like this, Jim. I cannot wait to have you in my bed, all naked and  _ mine _ ,” Oswald whispered, tongue slipping inside Jim’s mouth, swallowing his moans. He concentrated on the head of his cock, tugging it slowly. God, the sight “I’ve wanted you for so long…”

 

Jim buckled his hips, his left hand finding Oswald’s and squeezing it. “Oswald, fuck, I’m so close!”

 

“Come for me, old friend.” Oswald leaned in and lightly bit Jim’s earlobe before whispering: “I love you.”

 

“Oswald!” Jim screamed, thrusting his hips until come spurted from the tip of his cock, the thick fluid coating Oswald’s fingers.

 

Jim hid his face in the crook of Oswald’s neck who smiled and pressed a kissed to his blond hair. Oswald searched for a tissue in his pocket and cleaned himself and Jim’s cock, smiling when it twitched in his hand. Jim rose his hips so that Oswald could help him with his underwear and he zipped up his trousers.

 

Deftly, Jim turned around and straddled Oswald, cupping his face. They stared at each other before they broke out in smiles, Oswald blushing at the realisation of what they had just done in the office that wasn’t even his yet. Any thoughts of shame dissipated when Jim kissed him, putting his arms around Oswald’s neck.

 

“Thank you,” Jim said, pecking Oswald’s cheek. “Just as I thought, your fingers are magical.”

 

Oswald’s face flushed. “ _ Jim _ .”

 

Jim grinned, taking Oswald’s hand and kissing it. “It’s true.”

 

Oswald’s heart leapt with joy at how happy Jim looked ‒ the happiest in a very long time ‒ and the fact that he was part of the reason why made Oswald ecstatic. Jim would probably never understand what he meant to Oswald. 

 

Years ago, Oswald had lived in darkness. He wasn’t even aware of how obscure everything was until one serendipitous meeting when Jim Gordon, who suddenly appeared in that alley and illuminated his life. After seeing Jim’s goodness, there was no turning back. Oswald was craving it, his life making no sense when he wasn’t around Jim. The darkness wasn’t tempting anymore ‒ he was absolutely parched after Jim’s light.

 

But Jim didn’t want to be friends, he refused to share his light. Oswald suffered and got on the wrong path so many times, but he always had Jim on his mind and in his heart. The detective may have thought that they were on opposite sides, but he had shown Oswald that there was goodness left in the world worth fighting for. He thought killing Galavan together would bring them closer, but the murder almost snuffed out Jim’s flame. Oswald should have known that such a vicious act would affect Jim greatly, so he thought he deserved taking the fall for the detective.

 

After that, it seemed like every goodness was sucked out of the world. Oswald hated thinking about that period ‒ it was like a chimera, black coils dragging both him and James down. Luckily, Oswald managed to get back on his feet, stronger than ever. He thought Jim would bounce back too, but when Oswald saw him again after months of absence, he’d realised that Jim would need help.

 

Oswald had risked a lot of things in order to help Jim, but he couldn’t see the man be lost to darkness. Even though Jim didn’t know, he had given Oswald hope, had made him strive to be good, and he would sooner die than have his guiding light disappear. Fortunately, Oswald’s plans had worked out and Jim, albeit reluctantly, had taken the offered hand. 

 

It had been a difficult road, but slowly, Jim started to let go of the guilt he was dragging behind him. Oswald was worried that Jim’s light would never return until the moment when Jim came home worried after Oswald had been attacked by an Arkham escapee. His eyes held a sparkle of the old fire lurking inside him, and Oswald forgot about his injury, praising every deity that Jim Gordon could yet be guided towards the right path.

 

That sparkle had gradually expanded until Jim’s heart was no longer obscured by shadows. Oswald now looked at Jim in his lap, his eyes welling up slightly at the radiance the man exuberated. 

 

Jim must have sensed the rush of emotions in Oswald, for he kissed him, gently but deeply. “Let’s resume our celebration back home.”

 

Oswald bit his lip, squeezing Jim’s hips. “There’s more?”

 

“Of course, Mr. Mayor.”

 

A shudder of pleasure ran through Oswald, Jim smiling at his reaction before he kissed him again.

 

In that moment, Oswald vowed that he would do everything in his power to never let Jim’s light fade away, however dark Gotham became.


End file.
